


come back, baby (home to me now)

by LizMikaelson



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2019-11-23 19:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson
Summary: Hope and Lizzie embark on a journey to get the girl back. It doesn't go as planned.





	1. Mystic Falls

On day seven, Hope says. “We need to do something.” Lizzie doesn’t know when her life has been reduced to counting the days since Penelope Park left this school, but she doesn’t like it. 

 

She also doesn’t like the fact that she’s currently doubled over in pain, Hope’s hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. And what she really, really hates, is that this is nothing but an insignificant mirror compared to the immeasurable pain Jo must be in right now. Whatever she can feel leaking through the bond can't measure up to what Josie is actually feeling. 

  

Not that she really knows that for certain, because her sister is most definitely not speaking to her. Not speaking to anyone really, just drifting through the hallways as if in a trance. She keeps breathing slowly, waits for the pain to subside. In the last couple of days, she's gotten practice at this. 

 

“What we need is for you to look the proper degree of casual and hot,” she says, once she's better, standing back up again, refocusing, and reaches for the brush. She's supposed to be doing Hope's hair, keeping her end of the deal to help her get Landon back. "Sit down."

 

“Liz, I appreciate this. I really, really do. And our deal has definitely paid off or me. But Josie’s not speaking and you’re regularly in pain, and that means she must be too, and all of that takes precedence over whether Landon will forgive me or not.” Hope shrugs. “Besides, you’re doing a pretty good job. He accidentally said hello to me yesterday.”

 

“There’s nothing we can do. We’ve tried everything.” She's apologised dozens of times. They've tried movie nights and conversations. Hope has tried getting through to her, as has M.G. 

 

“There is one more thing.”

 

“What?” She asks. 

 

“You know what.”

 

“Do you really think if I knew, I would have asked you for help in the first place?”

 

Hope keeps staring at her, calm, like there is only one possible answer, one single solution and the realisation sets in. “No. No. She’s the only reason Josie is in this much pain in the first place. No.” Bringing Penelope back into the equation will simply start this vicious circle again from the beginning and Lizzie can't deal with that. More importantly, she's pretty sure that Josie can't, either. 

 

“We have to do something, Lizzie.”

  

“No. No. It will just make everything worse."

 

"How much worse can it get?" Hope questions and she has a point there. 

 

"How would it even work? I mean, we can’t just call her new school and ask to talk to her. And I very much doubt she’d pick up the phone. If she even has the same number.”

 

“I already made some inquiries," Hope confesses. "She does not have the same number. And at her new school, no one’s ever heard of her. They say she never enrolled there. And they've had no new students in the last three months, at all.”

 

“Such a pity. Guess there’s nothing we can do, then.” And she knows that she sounds colder than she means to be, but this screams bad idea. 

 

“Lizzie,” Hope says, and Lizzie hates it so much when Hope says her name like that, like Hope is certain that she is actually better and confident she will be. 

 

“We could go look for her,” Hope voices. 

 

The suggestion blindsides her. “I’m not flying to Belgium to look for Penelope Park.” It’s a blatant lie. This is nothing compared to the break-up anymore, when Josie was devastated and mad and sad. 

 

This version of her sister is destroyed. “How would that even work?”

 

“We get on a plane, fly to Belgium, do a locator spell, find her.” Hope shrugs. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”

 

“I’m not really seeing my Dad letting us out of school for this.”

 

“I’ll handle him. I’ll say we’re going on a research trip or something.”

 

“And my plane ticket fund is pretty empty, too.”

 

“Mine isn’t.”

 

“You have a plane ticket fund?”

 

“I have a lot of money,” Hope says, rather plainly and then looks away and Lizzie hates that pained look on her face, the one she always gets when she’s thinking of her father. 

 

“And why isn’t she in that school? Do you think she’s doing something sketchy?”

 

Hope shrugs. “Could be. But if we knew, maybe we could get some kind of closure for Josie.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”

 

That night, she passes Josie in the hallway and her sister doesn’t even look mad anymore. Just looks straight through her, as if she’s never existed at all. And that leaves her with the kind of fear that has her leaning against a wall, shivering, for minutes.

 

Once she’s halfway calmed back down, she finds Hope.

 

 “Okay,” she says, “whatever, let’s try.”

 

Hope nods, smiles at her. "I'll take care of the arrangements," she says. "Do you think Josie has anything of hers we can use for a locator spell?"

 

"I'll find something."

 

 

 

Hope keeps her promise. Her dad is delighted that they’re working together and not even remotely suspicious. And normally she'd be angry that he trusts Hope to such a degree. She's know that if she were trying this by herself, there's no way she'd get away with it. Just this time though, she lets it go. Josie is more important.

 

 

 

“I’m going away with Hope for a couple of days,” she tells M.G. “It’s- important. Can you keep an eye on Josie?”

 

He nods, quietly. “I don’t know how much I can help.” Right now, she doesn’t know how much anyone who’s not Penelope can help Josie, anymore.

 

“Just text me how she’s doing,” she requests.

 

 

 

On day nine after Miss Mystic Falls, Lizzie Saltzman finds herself squeezed into an uncomfortable plane seat next to Hope Mikaelson, on her way to chase down Penelope Park and get her to return. When did this become her life?


	2. Brussels

 

The hotel is perfect. Fluffy bathrobes, white sheets and a great view of the city. And Lizzie should be comfortable, but instead she feels antsy. There’s something off about all of this, even as she watches Hope prepare the spell, lighting candles and arranging them around the stupid hoodie Jo never got rid off.

 

She’s a little worried that her sister will miss it, but it was buried at the very back of their closet. Besides, hopefully once the spell is performed they’ll locate Penelope and be able to get out of here.

 

Hope looks up at her, holds out her hand. “I’m ready.”

 

She sits down on the floor, intertwines their hands and starts siphoning. There is something relaxing about taking power from Hope, who has an almost immeasurable amount of it. She doesn’t have to be quite as careful not too accidentally take too much.

 

The spell is simple enough, but nothing happens. There is no shift on either of the maps placed between them, no location on display.

 

“Did we do it wrong?”

 

Hope shakes her head. “We learned that spell in seventh grade. She’s probably cloaking herself.”

 

She really wants to throw something. Preferably at Penelope. “She’s not exactly making this easy.”

 

Hope gets off the floor with a sigh, walks to her suitcase and starts taking out books. Apparently, she brought an entire collection of grimoires. “I did a spell with Josie to find Landon. It doesn’t give a location, more of an image, but it’s a lot more powerful.It works without an object. And it might be enough to break through her spell.”

 

“And it’s dark magic.”

 

“Yes,” Hope nods. “We’ll need a sacrifice,” she adds thoughtfully.

 

And she feels her throat tighten at the admittance she knows she has to make. “We can’t do it.”

 

Hope looks up from where she was leaving through the grimoire. “I’m sure Brussels has rats, too."

 

“No,” she says, “I can’t do the spell. So if you need two people to perform it, we can’t do it.” Hope’s looking at her fully now, places the book back into the bag.

 

“Okay,” is all she finally says and her quiet acceptance gives Lizzie the strength to elaborate.

 

“Volatile magic and my volatile self are not exactly a good combination. I’m sorry,” she adds quietly into the silence.

 

Hope rushes over to her and seconds later, she’s wrapped into a hug. “It’s okay,” Hope repeats, “I wasn’t even sure the spell was going to work. And we have loads of other options. And nothing is worth risking your health for.”

 

She relaxes into the hug, into the new kind of safe she feels recently, when Hope is around.

 

 

 

 

 

“So, alternative plan?” Hope wonders, half an hour later, when they’ve picked up breakfast from down the street and settled on her bed to brainstorm. “I could go through the books I bought, see if I can find a similar spell. Something a little less dark.”

 

Lizzie shakes her head, contemplates. They’re thinking too much like witches, too much like Penelope. “We need to call M.G.”

 

“M.G.?”

 

“I think I have an idea.”

 

“I need a favour,” she greets him.

 

M.G.’s face wavers on her phone as he walks around and finally sits down. “Sure, Lizzie. What do you need?”

 

“So, I might have not told you the whole story of where Hope and I went.”

 

“Your Dad said something about New Orleans.”

 

“New Orleans, Brussels, really, there’s so little difference.”

 

She sees the shock register on his face. “Brussels? As in Belgium?”

 

“What the hell are you doing in Belgium, Lizzie?” He asks her. “Does your Dad know?”

 

“Seeking the devil,” she mutters, “and no, he does not. Don’t tell him.”

 

“You can’t just fly to Belgium,” he says.

 

She rolls her eyes. “And how is my sister today?”

 

He shrugs. “The same. I tried talking to her, but she just kind of waved me away. Wait- wait- are you actually there to look for Penelope?”

 

“That is what it seems like.”

 

“Let me get this straight. You and Hope flew to Belgium, together, to find the girl you hate and who told Landon she was lying.”

 

“Does the whole school know about that?” Hope questions, leaning in behind her.

 

“No,” he says. “I think he told me accidentally.”

 

“Focus, M.G.,” she says. “We tried a locator spell, but she seems to have cloaked herself. So we can’t find her and I need your help.”

 

“Isn’t she at that school?” He asks.

 

“No, she isn’t."

 

He sighs. “I feel like I’m stuck in a really creepy alternate universe. What do you need?”

 

“My Dad has to have a forwarding address for her on file.”

 

“And you want me to speed in there, get it for you and bring it here?”

 

She smirks. “That would be ideal.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He’s back mere seconds later, holding a piece of paper in his hands. “Your plan is to actually bring her back, right? Not like, hide the body? And you’ll make sure she isn’t in trouble?”

 

“Yes,” she confirms.

 

He reads out the address and Hope jots it down. “It must be for her mother,” he says.

 

“And M.G.,” she adds, “not a single word to my dad. Or anyone else.”

 

He grins. “I got your back. Good luck. And keep me updated.”

 

“You too.” He nods, seriously.

 

 

 

 

The location is at the other end of town.

 

“We need a fake story. And fake names,” she informs Hope.

 

Hope looks irritated. “Do you really think Penelope’s parents will call your Dad?”

 

Lizzie shakes her head, grateful for the months Josie couldn’t stop gushing every detail of Penelope’s life to her. “Her mother is really old-fashioned.”

 

“Old-fashioned?”

 

“Prejudiced,” she clarifies. “She made a huge fuss when she started dating Josie, because she wasn’t a _real_ witch.” She should probably give the other girl credit for that. “And somehow, I don’t think they’ll be anymore fond of you.”

 

“I didn’t know that.”

 

Lizzie shrugs. “I don’t think she exactly advertises it. So, get dressed and put on something that makes you look like an average witch who just wants to check in on her friend.”

 

They take the Metro across town. The sun is shining and the heat is sweltering, especially since it’s barely May. They’ve almost reached their goal when she looks up at Hope walking in front of her and sighs. “You are horrible at this deception business.”

 

Hope turns around. “Excuse me?”

 

“Simple instruction: dress like an average witch. This includes covering up the fucking werewolf mark on your shoulder.” She shrugs out of her jacket. “Here, put this on.”

 

Mrs. Park makes Penelope look like an absolute saint. Lizzie can’t stand her and she can basically feel the aggression rolling off Hope at the bitchy tone in the other woman’s voice, sends her a definite glare and puts on her best smile. They’re on a mission.

 

So, she pulls herself together and starts talking about how much they miss Penelope at scholl and that they were going to Belgium for a weekend away and how much they’d just love to check in on her.

 

Mrs. Park seems to believe her at least. “Really, I told her that just dropping out of school was a ridiculous idea, but she was dead set that there was something she had to do.” Apparently, her parental duties seem to be covered with that information and a resigned shrug.

 

“She is horrible,” Hope mutters, once they’re out of there.

 

Lizzie could not agree more, but she has a piece of parchment it took Penelope’s mother twenty minutes to find. “Let’s hope we find something here.”

 

Hope nods in quiet assent. “You did a good job with her,” she says, “you actually made her like you.”

The compliment leaves her with a quiet, fluttering thrill of a feeling and she smiles. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s get food and plan our next move.”

 

They end up on a quiet park bench, eating fries and watching tourists pass by. “So I guess we’re going to Paris then?” Hope asks.

 

She nods and looks at the note in her hand, a Parisian address she doesn’t recognise. The last time she was in Paris, she was with Josie and her mother and it makes her feel empty and tired, that everything seems to be detonating so quickly. Hope squeezes her hand, almost like she knows what’s going on.

 

 

 

 

The scream that wakes her is absolutely blood-curling and she shoots up in her bed, looking around. After a moment passes, she registers where she is. Brussels. With Hope.

 

Hope, who is currently thrashing in her bed at the other end of the room, tears running down her face. She rushes over, shakes Hope until she finally opens her eyes.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s just me. You had a nightmare.”

 

Hope’s fingers tighten around her wrist and Lizzie sits down on the bed, aims to keep her voice calm. “Just breathe with me,” she says, brushes the hair out of Hope’s face in what she prays is a calming movement.

 

Minutes later, Hope seems a little better, her breathing evening out slowly.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lizzie asks.

 

Hope shifts a little next to her, burrowing deeper into the blankets, before she begins speaking. “It’s usually always the same thing. Everyone I love, dead. And I failed them all.”

 

“No matter how much you like to pretend differently, it is not your job to keep everyone else alive.”

 

“Landon thinks I freaked out because he didn’t die. Because I’m scared of us being real.”

 

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Well, boys are stupid. We all knew that. And he’s wrong, you know that.”

 

“People around me tend to get hurt, no matter how immortal everyone thinks they are.”

 

She hears what Hope is not saying. Even if Landon is apparently harder to kill than the average human being, does that really make him any different from Hope’s incredibly powerful hybrid parents? She’d heard her father say it sometimes, before everything happened, that so many people had tried and tried to kill Klaus Mikaelson and it never stuck. Of course, he’d sounded more angry about it than anything else, but that is another matter entirely and not something she’s dealing with tonight.

 

“It’s not your fault,” she reminds Hope.

 

Hope sighs. “He died to save me.”

 

She bites her lip, unsure if she should say anything, but she’s never been particularly good at staying quiet. “I remember that night.” She won’t ever forget it, the darkness that had been everywhere, surrounding everything.

 

“And a lot of magic has passed through my hands, Hope, but nothing else was ever like that. The magic we pulled out of you that night, it would have killed you. It would have destroyed anyone who tried to live with it. Ridding the world of that and saving you in the process seems like a pretty worthy cause.”

So, yeah, he died to save you. But that’s not a bad death, Hope, doing a good thing and saving your daughter’s life in the process. His alternative choice was watching his own daughter die.”

 

Several seconds of silence follow and she almost fears that she’s said too much, that she’s just increased Hope’s pain. “Thank you,” Hope whispers.

 

“In my nightmares, I hurt the people I love,” she confesses into the silence. Especially recently, her worst fear has made it into most of her dreams.

 

Hope squeezes her hand, pulls her closer. “You’re a good person, Lizzie. I know that.” There is so much quiet confidence in her voice that it does make Lizzie feel a little calmer. For a moment, she forgets about her own nightmares, the recurrent dream of standing over Jo’s body.

 

They fall asleep tangled together and for once, she dreams of nothing.

 

 

The next morning, they’re on the train to Paris.

 

 

 

 


	3. Paris

In the end, it’s surprisingly anticlimatic.

 

The apartment building is utterly non-descript, blending in seamlessly into the Paris suburbs, except for the collection of warding, cloaking and shielding spells surrounding it.

 

Hope looks like she’s about to knock when they’ve reached the third floor. Lizzie grabs her arm.

 

“Ever heard of the element of surprise, Mikaelson?”

 

It takes her almost a minute she’s removed the assembled plethora of spells from the door and she feels herself get a little dizzy at the pure rush of power. Hope’s hand is at her elbows seconds later, stabilising her.

 

“You ready?”

 

She doesn’t answer, just pushes the door she unlocked seconds ago open and steps inside.

 

Penelope doesn’t look up from where’s sitting at a desk, bent over a book that looks ancient.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you back yet,” she says. “Did you find anything?” When neither of them answers, she looks up, blanches and gets out of her chair.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you, either. What the fuck are the two of you doing here?”

 

She meets Hope’s eyes. They didn’t actually plan this part out.

 

Hope sighs, then begins speaking. “We- Josie’s pretty torn up about you leaving.”

 

“And you came to tell me this why?”

 

Her voice is even and Lizzie burns with anger. “Of course you don’t care. We shouldn’t have come,” she says, half-directed at Hope and then turns back towards Penelope. “I thought you loved my sister. I thought you might care that she is absolutely devastated you are gone. And that she’s barely even speaking anymore.”

 

“But you’re just running away, gallivanting through Europe,” she accuses. “Did actually feeling things get too much for you and you had to run away? I never took you for a coward, Penelope. Or was she just not enough?”

 

And she knows that she might not be quite fair, but she’s angry and tired and Josie is in actual pain over this girl and Lizzie wants to hurt her back. And something she says seems to actually hit home, because Penelope’s face is flush with color and her voice is angry when she replies.

 

“Of course she was. She is everything. And I love her. That’s why I can’t stand by and watch you kill her.” Seconds later, her hand flies to her mouth. 

 

It’s the truth. She doesn’t know how, or why, but in that moment, staring at Penelope across the room, she knows that it’s true. She will kill Josie, has killed Josie, could kill Josie. Somehow, though her sister is very much alive right now, Lizzie might one day be the reason she’s not.

 

Her world spins and explodes.

 

She falls to her knees.

 

In the distance, she can hear something rattling and she can feel the pain burning inside of her. And then Hope is there, her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder.

 

“Breathe,” she says. “Stay with me, Liz, okay. Just stay with me.”

 

It sounds simpler when she says it. She doesn’t quite know much time passes until she can almost register her surroundings again. Hope’s voice breaks the silence.

 

“Maybe you should start explaining, Penelope."

 

Penelope looks between them, hesistant, and Hope adds, “now.”

 

“There is a ritual the Gemini Coven uses to choose its leader,” Penelope begins and her voice sounds horribly, horribly quiet, “called the Merge. Twins are in line to be leader and they complete a ritual, once they are twenty-two, in which the stronger twin absorbs the powers of the weaker one.” 

 

“Creepy,” Hope mutters, “even by my standards.”

 

Lizzie looks up to meet Penelope’s gaze. “And the weaker twin dies. You wanted her to have a chance.”

 

Her world has crashed down and she is spiralling and breaking into pieces, and the only thing remotely keeping her in place is Hope, kneeling next to her on the floor, her hand on Lizzie’s back, grounding her.

 

She’s saying something, something nice and good and right. “We’ll find a way, don’t worry, Lizzie. This sounds like a stupid, creepy thing anyway,” and she doesn’t really listen, just lets herself be lulled in by the comforting sound of Hope’s voice.

 

Penelope mutters something about making tea, flees the room.

 

“I can’t kill Josie,” she says.

 

“We’ll find a solution,” Hope replies. “I know you don’t want to hurt her, Liz.”

 

She curls her body into Hope, listens to the gentle assurances that it will be okay, and they’ve dealt with much worse and that they’ll figure it all out

 

Penelope hands her tea, crouching down in front of her. It smells herby and calming and she takes a deep breath, meets Penelope’s gaze. Lizzy can’t fault her, anymore. Saving Josie’s life is a damn good reason for every single thing she’s ever done.

 

“Thank you,” she forces out and they’re both looking at her, and she never wants to speak again, but she has to say this. “Thank you for trying to save my sister, Penelope.”

 

 

 

 

 

“There is one more thing,” Penelope says, into the silence.

 

“Yes?” Hope prompts and Lizzy’s grateful, because she’s not really up for conversation yet.

 

“When I found out about the Merge, I also found out that there was someone already trying to stop it. So I may have suggested we join forces. And she really didn’t want to, but I convinced her that I was going to look for a solution by myself, otherwise and -”

 

Behind them, the door knob turns and Penelope sighs. “- and I guess I’m too late.”

 

“Well fuck,” Hope mutters.

 

It’s not that she didn’t know that her parents were keeping secrets, hushed voices and quiet whispers. It’s just that she didn’t really expect it to be this.

 

Her mother is standing in the doorway, her gaze travelling over the three of them, and Lizzie can see the moment she registers what’s going on, moves with lightning speed until they are face to face.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she says and Lizzie wants to believe her, wants to stay and ask questions and talk, to be okay, but she can feel the rage burning, hotter and faster than ever before.

 

They lied for years. Not just Penelope Park, but her own mother, who she trusted and believed and has always idolised.

 

“I need to go,” she says, and Penelope and her mother say something, she thinks, because she can hear their voices in the distance, but she just focuses and meets Hope’s gaze, who nods, whispers something too quiet for anyone to hear. A second later, the floor is being ripped out from under her feet and she stumbles when they land outside on the street.

 

Hope wavers for several seconds next to her before she finds her footing and she looks more than a little shaken up. “Now I know why Freya said this one was just for emergencies.”

 

 

 

 

 

They don’t talk until they’re back at the hotel, where she curls up on top of the sheet and just lies there, trying to somehow comprehend the fact that an ancient prophecy wants to force her to die or become a killer.

 

“We’re going out,” Hope finally says. She’s pretty sure she heard wrong.

 

“To celebrate my expiration date?”

 

Hope rolls her eyes and intertwines their fingers, tugging her up from the bed. “You do not have an expiration date. We’re not letting this happen. But we’re also not gong to fix it tonight and there’s no use in the two of us sitting around here, worrying.”

 

She stays seated. She wants to go. It’s just-

 

“Come on,” Hope says. “You packed an entire trunk full of outfits just for Europe. Are you really just going to let them gather dust?” She did take that really cute dress. And anything is better than staying here, thinking.

 

She stands up and Hope grins. “Thought that would convince you.”

 

And then she suddenly steps closer until there’s only inches of space left between them and her voice becomes lower, more serious. “I have a real thing about the people I love dying, so you better fight hard as hell to stay alive, Saltzman.”

 

“Magic always has a loophole.” Now she just needs to convince herself of that and then everything will be fine.

 

“I’m holding you to that.” Hope’s hands pull, a little more firmly. “Now get dressed.”

 

And it’s not so bad, actually, the club Hope drags her to. The music is loud enough to dampen the thoughts she can’t seem to stop. She convinces Hope to dance with her. Fated to die, is proving to be a decent argument to get the things she wants.

 

She knows that Hope is a good dancer and it’s nice to be able to dance with someone who can keep up with her. And after minutes or maybe hours of sweltering heat and thumping movies and Hope, impossibly close to her, the information she learned today seems at least a little father away.

 

 

 

 

 

But when she wakes up the next day, she doesn’t need even a second to remember. In fact, she doesn’t think she can forget ever again. Her fate and Jo’s have instantly made their way into her reality and she feels pain just at the thought of that.

 

There is blinding light pouring into the room as she sits up.

 

“Good morning,” Hope says, walking over and sitting down at the edge of her bed. “I brought coffee.”

 

She drinks several sips before she catches the expression on Hope’s face, something between guilt and determination. “What did you do?” She asks.

 

Hope doesn’t bother with denial. Lizzie appreciates that. “We’re meeting your mother and Penelope for dinner.”

 

“I don’t want to.” She sounds petulant, but she doesn’t care.

 

Hope smiles at her. “I get that.”

 

She sighs, drinks more of her coffee. “Fine. But I’m counting on you to have my back and get me out of there if they’re being stupid.”

 

“Always,” Hope promises and smiles. “What do you want to do? We have an entire free day before we have to meet them.”

 

And she supposes there could be worse places in the world to be. So she may as well get out of bed and spend the day in Paris with Hope.

 

They go to the Louvre and she couldn’t have picked a better place. Hope drags her from painting to painting like a veritable audio guide, explaining the history and gushing over the meaning and the skill, and Lizzie feels the weight that has been pressing down on her since last night lifting at the sight of her as a normal girl, happy and filled with joy about the beautiful works around them.

 

If Hope Mikaelson manages to be happy about art while she’s supposed to stop the third key from reaching Malivore, Lizzie can circumvent fate and prevent the Merge from happening. She will. There is going to be a solution.

 

They eat crêpes with entirely too much chocolate sauce, but as Hope succinctly points out, _you only live once_. And maybe it’s not healthy, this mixture of ignorance and sarcastic jokes they’re doing, but it’s also normal and _them_ and it does actually make her feel better.

 

And they deserve an escape, she thinks, even if it is just for a little. A slice of normalcy for two people who have always been anything but.

 

 

 

 

She shivers when the sun starts going down, because she doesn’t think she’s ready to have this conversation. Doesn’t think that she will ever be ready.

 

“I’ll be right there,” Hope promises. Apparently she is now easy to read. 

 

 

 

 

Her mother hugs her like she is scared Lizzie will push her away. She never would. She just has no idea where to go from here and what to say.

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to say much, because Hope keeps up an easy stream of conversation with her mother, making Malivore sound like small talk, and she’s grateful for the time to breathe, to settle.

 

But despite that, there’s something heavy about the atmosphere at their table.

 

“So,” her mother says, and her voice is careful, even, “does your father know you’re here?”

 

“No,” she replies. “He thinks we’re on a research trip. Does he know you’re here?”

 

And she knows the answer to that, of course, because her parents have always been raised them together, but she still needs to hear her mother say it, needs the confirmation.

 

“Yes,” Mum says. “We both decided that I was better equipped to look for a cure and that he would stay with you girls.”

 

And such a great job he’s been doing. She wants to scream. Under the table, Hope’s hand is suddenly on her knee and she’s drawing a pattern Lizzie can’t quite discern and she focuses on that.

 

“Have you told my family?” Hope asks.

 

“That you’re here?” Her mother says, sounding the slightest bit irritated.

 

“No,” Hope replies, dry, as if that may be the most ridiculous question she’s ever heard. “About the Merge.”

 

Hope’s drawing a heptagon on her leg. “No,” her mother says, looking as close as Lizzie has ever seen her to uncomfortable.

 

“Why not?”

 

It’s a hexagon, now.

 

“I wasn’t sure-,” her mother trails off.

 

“You can ask us, all of us, if you need help. Always,” Hope says, looking straight at her mother.

 

Heptagon.

 

“They’ve been alive for a long time. Maybe they’ve heard something. Or have an idea. I’ll call them, if that’s okay,” she says, and it takes Lizzie a moment to understand that the last part of that sentence is directed at her.

 

She nods and under the table, she reaches for Hope’s hand, still on her leg, holds on.

 

Their dinner is served and they eat in a silence that is almost unbearably painful.

 

“You need to go back to school,” her mother says, and sounds nothing like herself. “All of you.”

 

“No,” Penelope replies, faster than either one of them. “You need a witch for any of the half-way decent leads we have.”

 

Her mother replies and then Hope chimes in and suddenly the three of them are off, arguing over her death sentence.

 

“Enough,” she says and silence falls over the table rather suddenly. She wasn’t sure they would listen.

 

“Don’t we get a vote? Josie is devastated that you left,” she tells Penelope, then turns back to her mother. “And did it ever occur to you that if one of us only has limited time left, we’d like to spend it with you?

 

You knew about this, both of you, and instead of talking to us, you ran away to the other end of the world. And you just left us behind,” and she knows that she sounds enraged and can hear her voice wavering, but she can’t stop. “Do you even have any good leads or are you just hiding out here so you don’t have to face us? Face reality?”

 

Josie has been handling my episodes and dealing with my mental illness since we were barely teenagers. And you’re right,” she adds in Penelope’s direction, “it was selfish of me to take advantage of her. But why was there even a void she could fill? Where were you, Mum?”

 

Her mother blanches under her gaze and she knows that she’s not being quite fair,

 

“We’re flying home tomorrow,” she says, “and I really think you should come with us. Both of you. So that we can figure this out at home. Together. All of us.”

 

And she can’t be here any longer, listen to them deny her request or try to get out of it. She stands up.

 

“We’re not dead yet,” she says. “Just in case you’ve forgotten.”

 

 

 

 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she adds and flees outside, leans against the heavy brick wall of the restaurant and breathes.

 

Minutes pass until she hears the footsteps, carefully approaching. “This was never how I wanted you to find out,” her mother says.

 

“I gathered that,” she mutters, but she can feel her anger subsiding. Mum’s always been good at calming her down.

 

“We never wanted to hurt you girls. We just never found a way to tell you something like this.”

 

“Well, you should be fine. Both of you already have replacement daughters lined up.” Alright, maybe she’s still a little mad.

 

“I think Penelope’s not exactly applying for a daughter position,” her mother chuckles and Lizzie rolls her eyes, but can’t help the smile that crosses her face when she meets her mother’s eyes.  

 

“Will you come home? Please,” she says.

 

“Yes,” Mum says and a weight drops of her.

 

And then, of course, the pain comes back. And it’s been better, mostly because of the distance, because the bond is weaker when there’s an entire ocean between them. And she knows that Josie would want neither Mum nor Penelope to know, but she can’t stop herself from stumbling.

 

Mum catches her and holds her until she can stand, again. Then she faces her with a look that Lizzie knows all too well. “Start talking.”

 

“Josie’s not doing so well,” she admits, “since Penelope has been gone.”

 

“Oh, baby,” her mother says, and pulls Lizzie into an embrace. This time, it feels real. Right. “I’m sorry. We were wrong, all of us, in how we went about it.”

 

“Come on, let’s get back to my future daughter-in-law and the girl who flew halfway across the world with you to look for you sister’s ex.” There’s something distinct in her tone that makes Lizzie feel like there’s something she should be hearing, even if she doesn’t quite know what. “They kind of looked like they were likely to fight and blow up the place when I left.”

 

“I have questions,” she says. “About the Merge? Neither one of us has magic we can loose. How does that even work?”

 

“I’ll answer anything you want to know,” her mother promises and links their arms together, leads her back inside.

 

 

 

The next morning, they board a plane back home. All of them.


	4. Interlude: Penelope

Penelope Park falls in love like she does everything else. Unapologetically. Recklessly. And without looking back.

 

The story goes like this.

 

“I’m Lizzie.”

 

“And I’m Josie.”

 

And she’s done for.

 

Of course, it’s never quite that easy.

 

Lizzie disappears halfway through the tour, apparently on her way to something more important. Penelope can’t say she minds, but she doesn’t like the look that crosses Josie’s face, sadness and regret mingling into something that leaves her feeling aching.

 

By the end of the tour, Penelope has learned that the twins are siphoners from the Gemini Coven, the headmaster’s daughters and have been going here their whole lives.

 

She’s also learned that Lizzie left for a date with one of the werewolves, that she’s quarterback of the flag football team this year and that they always loose against the town’s team.

 

“Now tell me something about yourself,” she says, once Josie has finished the tour.

 

“I just told you-,” Josie begins, but Penelope shakes her head.

 

“No. You told me a lot about your sister and the school. Now tell me something about yourself, Josie Saltzman.”

 

She watches Josie blush, stutter, fumble. And then she watches her look up, meet Penelope’s gaze, almost even. “I like reading,” she says. “Almost everything. I like Lord of the Rings. Lizzie prefers the movies, but I like the books.”

 

 

 

She spends her first week at the school building up a network of acquaintances. That is the easy part.

 

Getting to know Josie Saltzman is much harder. Everyone can agree on the fact that she’s one of the nicest people to ever exist, but apart from that, information seems to be limited to the fact that she’s Lizzie Saltzman’s twin sister.

 

So, Penelope sets out in pursuit of more information about this girl.

 

She learns that Josie has a rebellious streak.

 

It’s not like her own, which isn’t so much a streak as the fact that she prefers to do whatever the hell she likes, but it’s definitely there, hidden beneath layers of friendliness and innocence.

 

 

 

Her first hint is when she’s supposed to meet Josie in the other girl’s room to pick up her timetable.

 

As she’s waiting, she looks around, because she’s curious and because she wants to.

 

Josie has the biggest collection of romance novels she’s ever seen.

 

And she’s not fussy about invading other people’s privacy, but that’s not even her intention when she flips one of them open. Maybe she’d just like to tease Josie a little, watch her blush and smile that hidden, adorable smile.

 

Of course, once she does open the book, everything becomes a lot more interesting.

 

And she’s no stranger to dark magic, or to the offensive spells this school so strictly prohibits, she just didn’t expect to find them here. She goes through the books quickly enough. Fire spells. Offensive magic. Fire spells. Dark magic.

 

This is most certainly unexpected.

 

There’s a clatter from the door and she spins around to meet Josie’s eyes.

 

“I can explain-“, Josie begins, but Penelope shakes her head.

 

“I’m not the morality police, darling. But I have to say, I’m impressed.”

 

Josie’s posture relaxes as she steps inside.

 

“You’re not going to tell anyone?” Josie confirms.

 

Penelope shakes her head. “I’m all for breaking the rules. Interesting touch with the romance novels.”

 

“It’s a good hiding space,” Josie says. “My dad would never touch a novel and Lizzie doesn’t read romances.” Something twists in her face and she looks a little angry, as she adds, “maybe she should. Might help her figure out why her type of hot, damaged and dangerous is basically always the same damn person.”

 

Penelope forgets that statement almost immediately. There are few things in life she cares less about than Lizzie Saltzman. She will remember it over a year later, flying back home.

 

For now, she is very much focused on the cute girl blushing in front of her.

 

 

 

The second indication that there is most definitely more to Josie Saltzman than the obvious happens weeks later, when Josie comes into her room while she’s smoking and plucks the joint out of between her fingers.

 

Penelope raises a mild eyebrow, scoots over to make space and watches Josie sink down, drag slowly.

 

“Not that I’m objecting, but you know that this against school rules, right?”

 

“Yes,” Josie says.

 

“I wouldn’t want to be caught corrupting the headmaster’s daughter.”

 

Josie hands over a brochure she’s been holding, holds onto the joint and pulls again. “Here, this is part of your welcome packet and we forgot to give it you.”

 

“I’ve been here for three weeks,” she points out and feels a hint of something thrilling at the thought that perhaps-

 

Josie blushes. “Lizzie’s not - she’s not having the best day. I needed a break.”

 

“So you decided to come here and steal my weed?” Penelope smirks.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offers.

 

“No,” Josie says, “I’d really like to talk about anything but that.”

 

So that’s what they do.

 

 

 

She breaks at the beginning of summer, when the weather’s just turned warm enough to actually enjoy. They’ve been spending more and more days together and

 

“So, Jo-Jo, when are you going to let me take you out?”

 

Josie stutters, fumbles the pen she’s been holding and stares at her. “On a date?”

 

She’s been flirting with Josie for weeks now, which is part of the reason she finds herself staring. “Yes.”

 

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather ask someone else out? Lizzie? Or anyone else?”

 

Penelope finds herself bursting into laughter. “That’s going to be a definite no,” and she would feel bad about saying that, but there’s something so delighted about the look on Josie’s face, she can’t help but smile.

 

Neither of them says anything, until a smile breaks across Josie’s face. “Friday,” she says, and Penelope is utterly distract by the way the sun is hitting her face and her eyes are twinkling with joy.

 

“Huh?”

 

Josie smirks at her. “You wanted to take me out. I’m free on Friday.”

 

And before she can even reply, Josie gets up, kisses her on the cheek, and walks away. Penelope remains frozen in place, her fingers tracing over her cheek. She is truly, utterly gone for this girl.

 

 

 

It might be the best night of her life. They don’t do anything special, dinner and a movie, because Mystic Falls may just be the most boring place she’s ever lived in, but she’s never had so much fun.

 

And she should expect it by now, that Josie never behaves the way she expected her to.

 

But still, she didn’t plan to end her night pressed against the door of her room, Josie’s lips against hers. She’s definitely not complaining.

 

Everything about this relationship feels too good to be true.

 

In the end, it will be.

 

But for now, she enjoys it.

 

They hole up in her room, binge-watch stupid shows and make out until they fall asleep. Josie sends her letters, long and elaborate, detailing how much she misses her when they’re not together. And what she wants to do her when they are.

 

Her mother throws up a fuss, as is to be expected.

 

And she doesn’t care, because they’ve never been close. Because Josie is an incredible person and a powerful witch and that will always be true, no matter how her parents feel about siphoners.

 

Despite that, Josie brings her hot chocolate and kisses her forehead and Penelope knows she’s falling in love.

 

Everything is different than she expected and so much better, all at once.

 

She breaks her own heart the day before Christmas.

 

She doesn’t know what she’s done to herself until almost four weeks later.

 

The pens went to everyone. It was simply sensible, to make sure that in a place filled with secrets and lies, she’d have the upper hand if she ever needed it. It’s the way she’s lived every minute of her life and she doesn’t doubt it once, until her headmaster’s writing appears on the page.

 

_I almost told the twins about the Merge today._

 

And before she even knows what he’s talking about, she can feel that something horrible is going to happen. She’s almost been waiting for it.

 

She keeps reading, learns more. Learns about the curse and what it means, what is destined to happen to the twins.

 

And she thinks about her girlfriend, about the apologetic smile on her face when she says one of the sentences Penelope’s gotten used to hearing.

 

_Lizzie isn’t doing so great._

 

_She needs me._

 

_She’s just- sensitive._

 

_I’ll make it up to you, I’ll promise._

 

She’s never minded, before. Giving up a date night or two had always seemed worth it. Sharing Josie with a needy sister had been little more than an annoyance, because Josie’s made her happier than she’s ever been.

 

A tiny, hidden part of her wants to tell Josie, because she can’t stand to keep a secret from her. Something like this. Because she knows that it would be the right thing to do.

 

But that is a weakness she can no longer afford.

 

Instead, she keeps reading Alaric’s writings.

 

She learns that the twins’ mother is looking for a solution all over Europe.

 

“How did you get this number?” Is the first thing Caroline snarls into the phone.

 

“Stole it out of Dr. Saltzman’s phone,” she replies. “You should really tell him not to keep his emergency phone in a box marked for emergencies.”

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Penelope Park.”

 

They met once, over Christmas, just barely weeks ago. It feels like a lifetime, but it’s not the worst memory Penelope has.

 

“Is Josie okay?”

 

“Yes,” Penelope reassures. “I know about the Merge.”

 

Caroline puts up a decent fight, argues that Penelope’s too young, that there’s nothing she can do. That this isn’t what Josie wants.

 

Penelope’s stubborn.

 

She plans.

 

While she waits, she pulls out all the stops. She breaks up with Josie and prays and prays that she will fight for them, that this is enough of a reason for Josie to act.

 

It doesn’t work. Nothing seems to, in fact. Josie does not fight for herself, is willing to give and give and give to Lizzie who keeps taking and taking.

 

And she is selfish, will always be selfish but she knows that she needs to do what is in her power to stop this, because she can not live in a world without Josie.

 

And if that means leaving Josie behind, that’s the choice she has to make.

 

So she books her flight to Belgium and runs halfway across the world to save the girl she loves.

 

Somehow, she expected to be there for more than ten days.

 

Most certainly, she did not expect Lizzie Saltzman to be the reason for her return.

 

 

 

“Don’t worry,” Lizzie says to her while they’re waiting sitting in the Paris airport.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Don’t worry about Josie. You look stressed out as hell at the idea of going back.” This might not be entirely untrue. There not even close to a solution and she doesn’t know if there’s even a chance of anything changing. Josie’s life is still up in the air and despite what Lizzie said at dinner last night, Penelope doesn’t just want Josie to be alive.

 

She needs her to stay alive.

 

Next to her, Lizzie twists her hands before she looks up, meets Penelope’s gaze straight on. “I know you’re worried about her, about the Merge. But you don’t have to be. No matter how it seems, she’s the strong one. She’s always been.”

 

From behind them, there’s an intake of breath, close to a growl.

 

Lizzie turns around, rolls her eyes. “You’re supposed to be getting coffee.”

 

“You’re not supposed to give up on yourself,” Hope responds.

 

“This might come as a shocking revelation to Penelope, but I know it’s not news to you. And Josie’s never been afraid of making the hard choices, when it comes down to it.”

 

Hope doesn’t deny her statement and Penelope can’t help the relief she feels at that. Instead, Hope sits back down next to them, reaches for Lizzie’s hand and holds it between her own.

 

“We won’t let the Merge happen,” she says. “We won’t.” And Penelope thinks that she sounds fiercely determined.

 

Lizzie shakes her head, seemingly annoyed, but there’s a small smile on her face and she doesn’t pull away her hand. “All I’m saying is that I’d hate to spend the rest of my life, however long that will be, running around with heartache because Satan is the one person in the world who has confidence in me.”

 

And Penelope feels lighter and heavier all at once. Lizzie sounds so sure, so certain, that she wonders if everything she’s ever done has a purpose at all.

 

 

 

Hope falls asleep as soon as they’re on board of the plane, collapsed against Lizzie’s shoulder. “She’s been having nightmares,” Lizzie explains, and suddenly sounds incredibly tired herself.

 

Somewhere over the middle of the Atlantic, when Caroline has gotten up to get drinks, Lizzie shifts them a little and meets Penelope’s gaze.

 

“Make sure she becomes everything she’s meant to be, if this goes wrong.” And Lizzie smiles, a little wistfully, and adds, “she’s going to be brilliant.”

 

And for the first time, Penelope actually believes that Lizzie does love Josie.

 

Hope sits up in her seat. “Stop planning your funeral, Saltzman.”

 

“Make sure you wear something hot, Mikaelson,” Lizzie snaps back.

 

“Don’t die,” Hope orders and curls up against Lizzie, going straight back to sleep.

 

Penelope watches Lizzie stroke her hand over Hope’s head, smiling gently down at her and thinks back to the conversation in Josie’s room, so many years ago.

 

Hope Mikaelson is the epitome of hot, damaged and dangerous.

 

 

 

They are greeted by an absolutely furious Josie, who seems completely ready to burn the world down or set her sister on fire.

 

“So M.G. spilled,” Lizzie says when she sees her. She seems rather unbothered.

 

“What right do you have to just- you can’t just decide things like this for me, Lizzie?”

 

“When were you going to tell me about the Merge?” Lizzie questions.

 

She watches the screaming match unfold in the Entrance Hall, Caroline and Hope next to her, until Dr. Saltzman appears.

 

“What’s going on?” He asks.

 

“Just let them fight it out, Ric,” Caroline says.

 

“Girls,” Alaric attempts.

 

They turn around simultaneously and Penelope’s not scared of much of anything, but she’s certain grateful not be standing in that line of fire.

 

“We’re not talking to you,” Josie says.

 

“You’ve had the last sixteen years to talk to us,” Lizzie adds.

 

It’s another twenty minutes until the fighting subsides, until everything becomes a little more quiet and Josie meets her eyes.

 

And she can feel herself softening as Josie walks over, reaches for her hand and tugs her away from the others.

 

They end up in her room. It looks lived in.

 

“I may have stayed here,” Josie confesses.

 

For a moment, the room is quiet before Josie is quite suddenly in her arms and Penelope lets herself fall into the embrace, into the feeling of holding Josie close and finally, finally feeling home again.

 

She feels like she’s been fighting forever, searching a solution and a way for Josie to live, to survive and now she feels it seep out of her and feels tired, drained and better than she has in weeks.

 

She’s uncertain how long they remain like that, holding each other in the middle of the room before she moves a little until they’re settled on her bed, Josie curled into her shoulder.

 

She knows that they should talk, that they have so much to talk about. That Josie might be angry at her for not telling her about the Merge sooner, for choosing to break up with her and run away instead of being honest.

 

Knows that she could still be angry that Josie tripped and fell and let her walk away, never gave her a reason to stay.

 

But she thinks they can be forgiven for not talking about any of that.

 

Instead, she brushes a strand of hair out of Josie’s face and takes in the sight of her. Thinks she might never want to look away again.

 

“I can’t believe you convinced my Mum to let you come,” Josie says.

 

“She’d say I forced her.”

 

“I’d believe her,” Josie mutters, but her voice sounds more amused than anything else. She can feel Josie breathe before she continues. “What I have trouble believing is that my sister of all people convinced you to come back.”

 

She doesn’t quite know how to answer. “We weren’t getting anywhere,” she confesses, because maybe this time, she can just tell Josie the truth. “And I never wanted to go in the first place. So she didn’t have the hardest time of it.”

 

Josie relaxes, moves closer to her. “Will you stay?” She asks.

 

“Yes,” Penelope finds herself promising.

 

It’s different, being back.

 

Everything seems to have changed and she wonders if she was gone months, not days.

 

 

 

“Get dressed,” Josie tells her.

 

“Not something you’ve ever said to me before.”

 

Josie rolls her eyes, but Penelope can see the smile on her face as Josie leans down to kiss her, dirty, hot and promising, before suddenly breaking the kiss and moving away. “Please,” Josie says.

 

This is how she finds herself walking through the woods in at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning. She really would have had much better alternative ideas on how they could spend it.

 

The clearing has been turned into a beautiful picnic space, blankets on the ground, a basket in the corner. Josie reaches for her hand, pulls her down atop the blankets and Penelope feels dizzy, suddenly.

 

“Did you do all this?” She asks.

 

“Mostly. Hope and Lizzie helped with the food.” Josie chuckles. “Which is code for Hope cooked and Lizzie watched.”

 

“Hope can cook?”

 

“Really well,” Josie nods.

 

“Why?” She asks.

 

“Dad says it’s because she spends her days watching Cutthroat Kitchen. But personally-,” Josie interrupts herself, “that wasn’t what you meant.”

 

She laughs a little at the embarrassed smile on Josie’s face, feels lighter again. “I wanted to tell you something,” Josie says, moves until they’re facing each other, Josie’s hands cupping her face.

 

“I love you. With all of my heart.” Josie’s hands trace over her face and Penelope feels heavier and lighter and happiness. 

 

“And I’ll always, always fight for us.” And with the weight of the Merge lingering in the back of the mind, that seems almost as important. It’s all she’s ever wanted, all she’s ever needed to know.

 

Josie slides into her lap and they kiss, slow and soft and for what feels like a wonderful eternity.

 

“I love you too,” Penelope whispers.

 

“I know,” Josie whispers, smirks at her a little, kisses her again.

 

 

 

The following weeks feel dangerous, like she’s living in a glass ball threatening to shatter. Everyone is on edge, tip-toeing around each other. Everything with Josie feels perfect, but the weight of the Merge is still hanging over them all.

 

And she knows that nothing is alright from the way all of them spend every free minute researching, from the way that Josie clings to her sometimes in the middle of the night, her face wet with tears. 

 

Lizzie has basically disappeared from existence, a sort of haunting precursor to her own prediction that Penelope finds it harder to deal with than expected. She’s rarely seen anymore, hiding out in quiet rooms and dangerously close to invisible.

 

Penelope finds her in the common room once, reading something, heavy bags under her eyes, occasionally glancing to where Hope and Landon are canoodling at the other end of the room.

 

“Saltzman,” she says, “a question. Why is your girl sitting over there with Landon’s hands all over her.”

 

Lizzie sends her a proud smile. “I got them back together.”

 

She’s irritated. “Landon’s a decent guy, but no way is my gaydar this off.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

 

“I’m saying you’re into our resident hero.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Stop playing stupid.”

 

Lizzie sighs, almost softly. “You see that?” She points to where Josie and M.G. have sat down next to Landon and Hope and the four of them are chatting happily.

 

Penelope nods.

 

“She’s been here for ten years, Penelope. I’ve watched her. And believe me, I’ve tried. I tried to be her friend. I tried to pull her out of this shell she’d buried herself into. But something about that dish mop of a boy made that actually happen. He makes her happy and he makes her want to be happy. So you and I will forget we ever had this conversation and you drop it.” Her voice is icy. “Am I clear?”

 

“That’s stupid, Saltzman,” she replies. “What about your happiness?”

 

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “And once again, for the idiots. Why is this so hard for you to grasp? You of all people really should understand. Even selfish people can sometimes love selflessly. So even if I wanted to ruin my friend’s relationship with someone who she obviously likes, this is Hope we’re talking about. She’s already lost so many people. The boy who can’t die against the girl with the death sentence? That’s not exactly a trade-up, Penelope.”

 

For a moment, she doesn’t quite know what to say, before Lizzie continues. “And I have things to do. So now would be a great time for you to walk away.”

 

 

 

Hope’s not faring much better, Penelope thinks, watching her screaming angrily into her phone across the library.

 

And she’s not sure of what she’s meant to do.

 

Using her powers for good is boring.

 

Also, she’s definitely not scared of Lizzie Saltzman, but she can’t help but feel like this conversation might accidentally get her tossed off the school roof.

 

Hope throws her phone straight across the library. And the poor little vampire who’s supposed to be making sure that everyone stays quiet is basically shivering in his seat at this point.

 

Penelope makes her choice and approaches her. “You okay?”

 

“No,” Hope snarls at her, then sighs. “Sorry. I’m- it’s not your fault. It’s just that my Aunt Freya hasn’t been able to find any decent leads and Lizzie’s basically disappeared and Landon keeps wanting to spend time with me,” she shakes her head, looking irritated, “which is sweet, I suppose, but my friend might die. Oh, and the monster of the week hasn’t shown up yet.”

 

“Okay, sit down. This isn’t happening tomorrow. You’re still allowed to sit for a second.”

 

Hope collapses into one of the chairs. She looks wrecked.

 

“Look, Mikaelson, I totally get what you’re feeling. But you might want to stop throwing phones and scaring students and figure out why you and I feel the same way about this.”

 

Hope looks at her, like she’s not understanding a word Penelope’s just said. Penelope waits it out. And can practically see the realisation appear in Hope’s eyes.

 

“I should probably talk to Landon,” she finally mutters.

 

“You probably should. Also, don’t ever tell Lizzie we had this conversation that we’ve totally never had.”

 

“Lizzie knows?”

 

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Well, she thinks you deserve someone not, you know,” she waves her hand, “cursed.”

 

Hope’s voice is even, pensive. “Thank you, Penelope.”

 

She shrugs. “I figured I owed you idiots one.”

 

 

 

She doesn’t expect Hope to turn up in her room not twenty minutes later. “You need more advice on your love life, Mikaelson? Because this is as much charity work as I usually do in a year.”

 

“No,” Hope says, “Aunt Freya called, she thinks she’s got something. But we don’t have a lot of time, so hurry up and pack your things. We’re going to New Orleans.”


	5. New Orleans

She hates roadtrips.

 

Always has.

 

This is no small part due to the fact that she's spent a large part of their family road trips stuck in the backseat with a sister who has motion sickness.

 

Of course, that’s not going to be a problem today.

 

Because apparently, Penelope Park is the cure all for any ailment Josie might have.

 

So instead, she can watch the two of them canoodling in the back seat.

 

She distracts herself with books she bought, tries not to look to her left, where Hope is driving and humming along to the music, her fingers tapping on the wheel.

 

Tries not to get distracted by the way Hope smiles at her, bites her lip a little when she glances over.

 

They stop after six hours, splurge on coffee and she drinks her cappuccino. And she feels tired, drained, and utterly exhausted.

 

It’s when they’re almost done and she’s tossed her cup that Hope comes closer. “Hold still,” she says, swipes her  thumb over the corner of Lizzie’s mouth, says, “you had a little milk there.”

 

And all that is left for her  to do is pray that Hope’s super-hearing can not pick up on the way her heart rate accelerates.

 

“There you go, all better,” Hope adds and she is almost certain that Hope is full on smirking at her as she walks of to the bathroom.

 

She’s frozen in place. What the fuck is going on here? She’s only broken out of her trance when she hears quiet chuckling next to her and spins around. “Penelope Park. What the hell did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Penelope claims with what she guesses is supposed to be an innocent smile. There’s nothing innocent about it.

 

“Try again.”

 

“I merely pointed out that throwing phones is not how friends usually respond to their friends being in danger.”

 

“Stay out of my life, Penelope.”

 

Josie pulls out her earbuds, stares at them. “I thought you guys stopped fighting.”

 

“We’ve stopped fighting about you,” Lizzie mutters. “And Penelope’s just agreed to stay out of my life.” Josie plugs her earplugs back in and Lizzie finds herself smirking. “Besides, Josie has dibs.”

 

She watches the expression on Penelope’s face. It’s the first fun she’s had today. “Josie does not need dibs,” Penelope breathes out.

 

Lizzie tilts her head. “You look pissed off, Penny.”

 

“Don’t Penny me.”

 

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who set a fire to call dibs.”

 

Okay, so maybe she is a terrible sister sometimes.

 

“Josie set a fire,” Penelope questions.

 

“She had a crush on Hope, sent a note, tried to burn it, set a fire.”

 

She would feel bad, but Penelope doesn’t seem to care, has turned away from Lizzie and is openly staring at Josie, who’s climbing back into the car, looking more than slightly intrigued..

 

“Oh my God. You’re into this."

 

Penelope shrugs, walks towards the driver’s seat. “We all have our weaknesses, Saltzman. Yours is coming back, by the way.”

 

The rest of the drive is a little less annoying, which is not even remotely connected to the fact that Hope is splayed out across the entirety of the backseat, her head in Lizzie’s lap.

 

She shifts a little, still fast asleep after another four hours of driving, and Lizzie moves the book she had been reading, runs a careful hand thorough Hope’s hair.

 

When she looks up again, she catches sight of a smirking Penelope in the rearview mirror.

 

And really, love of her sister’s life or not, Lizzie is just about ready to send her straight back to Belgium.

 

Penelope meet her eyes, says, “cute,” quietly enough not to wake Josie or Hope up.

 

Lizzie still has her hand on Hope’s arm, and it’s easy enough and she smirks when Penelope shivers in her seat, glares at her angrily.

 

Hope sleepily blinks her eyes open. “Are we electrocuting Penelope?”

 

“Yes,” Lizzie confirms.

 

Hope nods. “Okay, then,” goes straight back to sleep.

  
  
  


New Orleans is loud and noisy and bright.

 

And she would be annoyed at all or any of that. But the pure joy that Hope radiates as soon as they cross the city lines, the way she points out the sights to Lizzie, her voice filled with excitement, that makes it hard.

 

And for a moment, she ignores the heaviness of their situation, lets Hope lean over her to show off the city she loves and takes it all in. Listens to the way Hope sounds here, her vocie a little fuller, a little firmer.

  


For a bunch of people who are supposed to be the epitome of evil, the Mikaelsons are nice. Really nice.

 

As it turns out, the worst fear of large parts of the supernatural community are also the hugging kind of people.

 

And she doesn’t much like people normally, but these are Hope’s people, and so she lets them hug her, smirks when Rebekah tells her that she is much prettier than her mother. Her mother had warned her that they’d shared a rivlarly, before they’d left.

 

And while she’d normally be eager to jump to her defence, she figures after a decade of lies, she can accept a single jab, especially when it comes hand in hand with a compliment.

  
  


“So, darling,” Freya drawls, once they’re all settled at the dinner table, “how is that boyfriend of yours?”

 

“Fine,” Hope mutters, obviously more than willing to change the subject quickly.

 

“When will we get to meet him?” Rebekah presses.

 

“It doesn’t really matter anymore,” Hope says, and Lizzie observes the conversation carefully, because there is something odd, something different about her voice.

 

“We promised your father to threaten any boy you would ever date.”

 

“We broke up,” Hope says.

 

Lizzie drops her knife and is incredibly grateful that Freya and Rebekah respond simultaneously.

 

“You didn’t tell me.”

 

“Why? What happened? Are you okay?”

 

Hope waves the barrage of questions off with her hand. “Guys. Guys, I’m fine. I broke up with him. I just figured out that he and I weren’t right for each other.

 

And she doesn’t - Hope’s eyes meet hers across the table and she smiles. And it’s not a normal kind of smile. Friendly, innocent.

 

It’s - Hope tilting her head, a twinkle in her eyes, a smile that borders on a smirk.

 

Lizzie feels heat rush through her, coil in her stomach, feels flustered beyond belief.

 

And this is - not her.

 

She’s Lizzie Saltzman. She’s not about to start blushing because a pretty girl smiled at her across a dinner table.

 

Instead, she drinks large gulps of water, avoids Hope’s gentle eyes and Penelope’s amused gaze.

 

She feels restless that night, in a new city, the numerous revelations of the past twenty-four hours still heavy on her midn.

 

And so she sneaks out of her room and sits in the quietness of the atrium, tries to assemble the mess of her thoughts.

 

It’s silent here, unlike the last days, which have been a bustle of noise.

 

“Enjoying the peace?” Keelin’s voice is soft.

 

Despite that, Lizzie finds herself spinning around, her hand half raised before she slowly lets it sink. There is nothing she could do here, anyway, hundreds of miles away from school. It’s another reason for her restlessness. She’s never much cared for her powers, but being without them is also always unpleasant.

 

For a moment, she thinks about Brussels, about Paris, about the way Hope had rarely left her side.

 

Knows that she would be here in an instant, if Lizzie stopped pushing her away.

 

Knows that she won’t.

 

That she can’t afford to.

 

Keelin steps closer with a soft chuckle. “I didn’t mean to bother you, sweetheart.”

 

She shakes her head. “You didn’t. I was just surprised.”

 

Keelin walks closer carefully, motions to the free spot next to her. “Do you mind?”

 

“Of course not,” she says.

 

“This can’t be easy,” the other woman says, “on you or your sister.”

 

Lizzie doesn’t quite know what to reply, just nods.

 

“I know a thing or two about a curse you can’t escape,” Keelin continues. And she would normally say something snide, but there is something so gentle about the other woman’s voice, filled with kindness and understanding.

 

“I hated being a werewolf for so long,” she elaborates. “I did everything I could to try and escape that, as much as I could.”

 

“What do you mean?” she questions.

 

“I slowed my own healing down, just so I could feel more human. Life a more human life.”

 

“How?”

 

“A monster is still just a biological organism. I broke into the hospital lab. At the end of the day, even supernatural beings are still biological organisms. And we can change how biological organisms act.”

 

“Did it help? To make you feel more human?”

 

“Not really,” Keelin says. “And then Freya gave me this”, her hand twists the ring on her finger, red glinting even in the dim light of the night. “Gave me back the choice over who I am. Gave me the ability to turn at will and not to turn at will.”

 

“So, is this you telling me to accept my fate and hope that things will get better? Fix themselves?” Lizzie questions.

 

“No, this is me reminding you to keep fighting. For yourself. For your sister. You don’t ever have to accept a fate. And even if you don’t have a solution right now, it’s worth it to keep looking.”

 

The words stay with her, and in the early hours of the morning, she finds sleep, even if it is filled with nightmares.

  
  


“I was wrong,” Penelope says the next day, “when I ran away.”

 

The others are inside, debating over the spells they could use to prevent the Merge, and Lizzie has escaped to the balcony. The constant discussion of their fate is proving more and more exhausting.

 

This is the second pep talk in the last twenty-four hours. She should definitely change something, because it’s getting annoying.

 

“Should you be telling me this?”

 

Penelope sighs, looks almost wistful for a moment. “Probably not just you,” she amends, “But I think you need to hear it, too. Whatever happens in the future, all the time I get to spend with Josie will be worth it.”

 

“This is nauseatingly sweet of you, Park.”

 

“You’re not going to listen to me, are you, Saltzman? Even though I’m right.”

 

“Most definitely not.”

 

Penelope shakes her head. “You really are a stubborn bitch.”

 

“Yes. And one who enjoys her peace, so if you don’t mind,” she waves her hand, watches Penelope roll her eyes, leave.

 

She dreams about Dana that night. And about Saskia. And about Hope, her eyes filled with grief and the memories of her parents, sounding far too wise and far too broken, speaking about loss like it’s her second nature.

 

She is doing the right thing.

  
  


After two days stuck in New Orleans, Lizzie is on the verge of snapping. She can feel the anger, the tiredness coiling inside of her and she knows that she needs to do something about it, does not know what. Wishes she could run into the woods and scream and scream until there is nothing but emptiness left inside of her.

 

Freya has run what feels like a hundred spells on her and Josie, and that leaves her drained, exhausted, empty.

 

But more importantly, whatever Penelope told Hope, Hope’s behavior has changed into something that  Lizzie finds more flustering than she’d like to admit. She’s everywhere, touching, smiling, far, far, too friendly. Flirtatious, Lizzie knows, and apparently intent on ruining them both.

 

They’re waiting until some kind of alignment correct itself, the moon, the stars. Lizzie can’t bear to hear the details of the spell Freya is planning, has never felt less interest in magic. She can’t afford the glimmer of hope she feels whenever Freya attempts to explain the magic she wants to use.

 

She can’t afford the way this version of Hope makes her feel, far too close and far too much.

 

So when Josie suggests that they take the evening off and Hope offers to show them some of the best places here, she feels more than a little worried. Because while she’d normally enjoy a night out on the town, Hope in the tiniest flimmer of a black dress makes her feel things she’d much rather ignore.

 

Penelope and Josie have the decency of holding out for about half the night before they disappear somewhere in the club. And she’s not surprised. This was bound to happen. They’ve been attached at the hip and Penelope is on a one-woman-mission to make sure that she and Hope are constantly alone together, anyway.

 

Hope, who is dancing far too close to her, her hands running over Lizzie’s body, pulling her in and pressing them together. Hope, who is beautiful and graceful and elegant and wild, who makes Lizzie’s heart beat faster with the joyful glint in her eye and the low, soft smile on her face and the messy curl of her hair.

 

Hope, who places her hands on Lizzie’s hips and whispers something, drowned out by the beats of the music, her lips on the shell of Lizzie’s ear, intoxicatingly close.

 

And she breaks. This can not continue any longer.

 

She wraps her fingers around Hope’s wrist, drags her out of the club and onto the street.

 

“Stop it,” she says, as soon as they’re outside.

 

And before Hope can reply, there’s a group of people moving past them, loud and drunk. Hope tugs at her hand and presses a door open Lizzie hadn’t even seen.

 

The bar they enter is empty- not a soul in sight, just  creaky tables and cobwebs and an assortment of bourbon on the counter. Something feels off about this place.

 

Momentarily, she is distracted. “Where are we?”

 

“New Orleans most popular supernatural bar. It’s closed tonight, it’s normally a lot more crowded in here..”

 

Hope’s voice is almost quiet as she turns around, walks towards the counter. “Do you want something?” She offers.

 

“No,” Lizzie says, watches as Hope pours herself a glass of bourbon. She twists her fingers for a moment, swallows her pride. This is more important. “You need to stop.”

 

“Stop what?”

 

She doesn’t deign the question with an answer. They both know exactly what she means. “Whatever Penelope told you, it doesn’t matter.”

 

Hope spins around and Lizzie is taken aback by the obvious anger on her face. “Oh yes, speaking of that. I can’t believe I had to find out from Penelope.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to tell you?”

 

“Yes,” Hope bites out and the glasses at the opposite end of the bar shatter. “I thought we were friends.”

 

And she can’t bring herself to deny that statement, because she has wanted to be Hope Mikaelson’s friend since she was five years old. And they are. But -

 

“It would not have changed anything.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because this isn’t happening.” And for a moment, she feels tired beyond belief. “Go back to your hobbit, Hope. You’ve both got long and happy lives ahead of you.”

 

“So she was right,” Hope mutters.

 

“Who was right?” she questions.

 

“Penelope. This is about the Merge.”

 

“This is about the fact that Landon,” she spits the name out, despite herself, “makes you happy. About the fact that we’ve spent years hating each other and you know, deep down, that we would never work.” It’s a lie, blatant. She thinks they would be glorious.

 

“And you decided this? That Landon is what’s best for me? Is that why you helped me get him back?”

 

“I want you to be happy,” she says. “And you can’t deny that he made you happy.”

 

“So I don’t even get a vote?” Hope asks her and steps closer, until they’re only inches apart. “You’re just deciding this for the both of us. For all of us.”  


“I’m being sensible,” she argues.

 

Thinks about Hope, fifteen years old and heartbroken, absolutely devasted, a shadow of herself, returning to school an orphan.

 

Thinks about Hope, with tired and sad eyes, withdrawing deeper and deeper into herself.

 

And knows that she doesn’t want to be the cause of that kind of pain. Never.

 

“You’re being an idiot,” Hope says and steps even closer and Lizzie finds herself pressed against the brick wall behind her, Hope’s hand on either side of her, framing her.

 

“So are you,” Lizzie bites out and she’s drunk on Hope’s presence, far, far too close and she’s not sure which of them closes the space between them.

 

But she knows that Hope’s lips are soft and that her hands are on Lizzie’s neck and that Hope is pressing against her, sucking on her bottom lip, and Lizzie opens her mouth to her, gives in.

 

Because she is so, so tired of resisting temptation, of resisting Hope, of fighting herself in a battle she desperately wants to loose.

 

And so she kisses Hope, looses herself to the frantic passion between them.

 

With every swipe of Hope’s tongue, she falls and falls.

 

And it’s only when she bites down on Hope’s lip, hears her moan in the most delicious way, that she feels the daze around her dim.

 

But she’s in far too deep already. Has been in far too deep for weeks now and is so tired, and so so tired of holding back.

 

So Lizzie pushes them backwards, guides Hope onto one of the tables and she thinks that this is the definition of a bad idea.

 

There is a bustle of noise outside and she kisses Hope, siphons the magic she needs from her and casts a locking spell on the bar. And she doesn’t really think twice about it until she meets Hope’s eyes, flushed face and blown pupils, biting her own lip and head tilted backwards.

 

“Do that again,” Hope requests.

 

And arousal rushes through her at the sight in front of her and the last traces of fight leave her.

 

Her whole life, she’s played by the rules laid out in front of her when she was just a little girl.

 

Be careful. Take slowly. Just as much as you need.

 

And she’s never even so much as bent them. (She knows Josie has.)

 

And Hope’s eyes are trusting and soft and Lizzie steps between her legs and places a careful hand on her neck, lets her fingers travel over the soft skin of Hope’s throat and pulls her closer, until there is next to no distance left between them.

 

And Hope smiles up at her and Lizzie kisses her and kisses her and then she slowly, purposefully begins siphoning.

 

And she knows that Hope is the most powerful creature on the planet.

 

Has been a little less careful siphoning from her in the past.

 

But that’s nothing compared to this.

 

The pull of power she feels as she takes and takes makes her feel alive. Hope’s ragged breathing and the way she shudders and pulls Lizzie closer and closer and closer, that might be even better.

 

Because this is not the same as taking power from any other person or from an object, because Hope is arching closer to her and holding onto her and pushing her own power towards Lizzie, giving it up so so freely. There is so much intensity about this, so much trust, she can’t help the moan that escapes her.

 

She tugs at Hope’s dress, pulls it up over her hips and takes in the sight in front of her. And she should walk away, because this will end in heartbreak.

 

Best case, her own.

 

Worst case, Hope’s.

 

But there is power cursing through her veins, and for the first time in her life she feels calm, and strong, the quiet storm of Hope’s magic running through her own body. And Hope’s eyes are blown, and her lips are swollen and red, and she looks beautiful.  


“Fuck, Liz,” Hope says, and her voice is low and throaty.

 

And she would do anything to hear Hope say her name like that again.

 

She pulls at the flimsy lace of Hope’s underwear and Hope raises her hips to help her get them off and whimpers in the loveliest way when Lizzie touches her.

 

And she is wet under Lizzie’s touch, and Lizzie moves her lips, over her neck, sucks the pale skin into her mouth and listens to Hope moaning her name as she thrusts inside her, watches Hope arching upwards, closer to her.

 

Hope’s breathing turns more and more frantic with every passing second and Lizzie delights in the way she gasps her name, finally covers Hope’s mouth with her own when she can feel her clenching around her. 

 

She kisses Hope as she comes, and doesn’t stop kissing her, even as she slows the pace of her fingers, because she knows that as soon as she does, this magical moment will break and she will be pulled back into a reality where she is cursed to fade out of existence, where Hope seems to be cursed to loose everyone she cares about and where there is simply no possibility of them being happy, most certainly not together.

 

Her phone rings and they spring apart and she almost stumbles over one of the chairs. “Hi Jo,” she greets, attempts to even out her voice, to convey a calmness that she doesn’t feel. .  

 

And her hands are shaking as she agrees to meet Josie and Penelope outside and she avoids Hope’s gaze, straightens out her blouse and redoes her hair, watches out of the corner of her eye as Hope pulls down her dress and gets up slowly.

 

Freya says it’s time, Josie explains, once they’re outside, and they hurry back to the house.

 

She feels dizzy, dizzy with the all too vivid memory of Hope, just minutes ago, dizzy with the hope she can’t suppress anymore, dizzy with worry, arousal, anticpiation.

 

Freya fails.

 

There’s not really much more to it then that. She performs the spell and there is nothing but nothingness and every single one of the diagnostic spells gives them the same answer. The curse is alive and thriving, binding them to fulfill their destiny.

 

Lizzie runs away. Watches Josie crumble into Penelope’s arms, sees Hope attempting to follow her out.

 

“Don’t,” she begs, “please,” and hates herself for the broken, shattered look in Hope’s eyes, even as she acquiesces, lets Lizzie walk away. She feels like the worst person in the world, walking away from this, leaving Hope standing alone in the hallway.

 

But she can’t stay, not anymore.

 

Not now, not with the knowledge that her fate is even more sealed than it was yesterday.

 

She’s so fucking mad. At Penelope. At Hope. But mostly, above all, for herself for letting things get this far. Because now, everything that was never supposed to happen has happened.

 

Because now, no matter what she does, she has already caused Hope pain and will cause her more and that, that was never her intention.

 

She can’t sleep that night.

 

Stays awake and counts the seconds.

 

Can still feel Hope’s hands on her, Hope’s body under her, Hope’s power cursing through her veins.

 

Can still feel the pain of hurt and loss and disappointment, her own, mirrored and increased by Josie feeling the same thing. She stays up that night, stares out the window into the darkned night and wishes, silently, for a different fate.

  
  


Josie shows up in her room the next morning, looking pale, looking quiet. She hasn’t slept either. Lizzie tilts her head, observes her entrance.

 

Josie shifts, a little awkwardly, before settling at the edge of Lizzie’s bed. “Why are you here?” Lizzie asks her, quiet.

 

They’ve barely seen each other for weeks.

 

They can’t really look each other in the eye anymore.

 

The happening of last night just make everything worse, Lizzie thinks.

 

Freya Mikaelson is one of the most powerful witches this world has ever seen, renowed and famous for her talents. If she can’t help them, then perhaps this curse is simply too strong to fight.

 

“We haven’t really talked,” her sister attempts.

 

Lizzie levels her with a glare. “And you spontaneously decided to start?”

 

Their staredown lasts, neither of them willing to give. She contemplates if this is the curse, seeping into reality, but it is also who they’ve always been.

 

“Penny sent me,” Josie finally admits. “She said someone should talk some sense into you.”

 

“Your girlfriend’s an interfering bitch,” Lizzie mutters, almost disbelieving that Penelope still hasn’t given up this particular battle.

 

“You’re the one who got her to come back,” Josie argues.

 

“I could also be the one who convinces her to leave again,” Lizzie mutters, more to herself.

 

Josie chuckles, unlike her, and shakes her head before she steps closer, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Are you going to tell me why she thinks I need to talk sense into you?”

 

“No,” Lizzie whispers, burrows her face in a pillow.

 

Nothing happens for several seconds until Jo scoots up, wraps an arm around her shoulder and runs a comforting hand over her back. It feels almost like - before. It’s a before that never truly existed maybe, but there’s still something reassuring about it.

 

“You sure?” Josie asks her and Lizzie nods.

 

“Okay,” her sister says, stays where she is.

 

“I had sex with Hope,” she admits, after minutes of silence have passed. “Last night.”

 

“About time,” Josie mutters, then sits up next to her. “Wait, really?”

 

She lifts her face of the pillow, stares at her sister. “No, I thought it’d be a fun joke. I also thought you’d be mad.” That’s a truth she had not planned on admitting.

 

At the other end of the room, she can hear an old-fashioned clock ticking. It’s the only noise. Even the bustling streets underneath her window seem silent today.

 

“I always knew you - ,” Josie stumbles for a moment. “I always knew she mattered to you, Liz.”

 

Lizzie doesn’t even know what she wants to ask, doesn’t even have the words to turn into the questions that are suddenly appearing. Josie leans back against the pillows. “It was just a crush.”

 

“You set the school on fire,” Lizzie finds herself pointing out. This is not what she wants to say. To ask. Because that’s not the bad part. Not the part that matters, nothing that would be a reason enough.

 

“And I told a horrible lie,” Josie adds. Tick-toc, the clocks goes, breaking through the quiet. Josie bites down on her lip, breathes slowly before she sighs. “Maybe I was scared of being left behind.”

 

It’s a revelation that feels like it changes everything.

 

Because Josie knows her. Because Josie knows her better than she knows herself. Because Josie has always, always known a truth that Lizzie is still too scared to admit.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“You and Hope, it’s been a long time coming. And I’ve stood in your way for more than long enough.”

 

She doesn’t even know what to say, feels herself shivering and shaking, because this has become more than she can deal with. Because Josie’s blessing feels far too light, too easily given.

 

“It’s too late,” she says.

 

And she knows that Josie understands, because suddenly the room feels heavy again, the weight of the future pressing down on them. Their shared destiny is everywhere, especially now.

 

Josie understands.

 

Josie doesn’t say anything.

 

Just wraps her up in a hug and for just a moment, Lizzie lets herself be held.

 

Knows that she has to find a solution.

 

Knows that even if she might have resigned to her own fate, she can't do this to her sister.

 

Josie deserves better than to be a victim, and so much better than to be a killer.

 

The minutes pass and she takes the comfort her sister is offering, while considering the choices she has left.

 

When they get up, she promises to come down for breakfast as soon as possible, watches Josie leave, stares at the books on her nightstand.

 

It had been nothing more than a shot in the dark, to continue along this road, even though she doubted it would ever lead to anything. She has been at this for three years, without much of a result.

 

But now, now that it’s Josie she’s fighting for, she’s willing to take the shot.

 

She walks to the laboratory Freya and Keelin share, thinks she might find her there. Instead, she observes Freya and Hope, stays half-hidden behind the doorway.

 

“Please, Aunt Freya,” she hears Hope’s voice, tired and distraught.

 

Her hands start shaking and she is suddenly grateful that she is not at school, that there is no magic running through this house, because hearing pain in Hope’s voice makes her want to blow up the world and burn down the city.

 

This is what was never supposed to happen.

 

She watches Freya wrap Hope up in a hug. “I’ll keep looking,” she promises. “We’ll find a way to save your girl.”

 

And she can’t quite help the forbidden thrill that rushes through her at those words, despite everything, even though now, at the lastest, she should truly know better. She watches Hope look up with a slight blush on her cheek. “I can’t lose her,” she whispers and Lizzie feels her own heart breaking and hates herself for ever getting close to Hope, for being the reason someone who has been through so much might loose more.

 

“Always and forever,” Freya promises, “I won’t give up. We’ve landed ourselves in so many messes over the years. And gotten out of most of them.”

 

She hugs Hope again and looks straight at the doorway, meets Lizzie’s eyes.

 

Lizzie shakes her head, moves a single finger to her lips, walks away. Right now, there is no comfort she can offer Hope.

 

She finds Keelin in the nursery. “I need your help,” she says.

  
  
  



	6. Epilogue: Josie

Josie Saltzman falls in love like she does everything else. Carefully. Cautiously. And constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

The prettiest girl she’s ever met look her straight in the eye and says, “now tell me something about yourself.”

 

Josie Saltzman has never been good at saying no. This time, she doesn’t want to. 

 

Penelope Park sees her. 

 

Always. 

 

All the time. 

 

Her eyes meet Josie’s across crowded rooms. 

 

Her smirk greets Josie across classrooms. 

 

And her gaze trails Josie through the hallways, quiet and observant. 

 

And Josie finds herself completely captivated by Penelope. 

 

Penelope, who lets her talk without interrupting, lets her steal her weed without judgement, lets her be, and doesn’t seem to want or need or require anything at all, in return. 

 

Before she knows it, Josie is falling, deeper and deeper. 

 

Love is not quite, or at all, what she expected.

  
  


She doesn’t have much of an example, after all. 

 

Her parents’ love stories ended in death and tragedy and loss.

 

Her sister doesn’t believe in love stories. “You have to go after the things you want,” Lizzie says, and goes after Sara Paulson and Bill Elliott and Josie stands in the corner, pressed against the wall. 

 

Sara has the bluest eyes and a stunning smile and Bill has a kind voice and an almost bad ass attitude and she liked them both, just a little. 

 

But Lizzie calls dibs. And dibs. And takes, and takes, and Josie wants, and wants, and hides in the shadows. 

 

And she understands why Lizzie feels the way she does, of course, about love stories. Why she believes them to be pointless. Non-existent.  

 

She knows her sister. Knows her better than Lizzie knows herself. Or wants to know herself, maybe. 

 

And wonders what it must be like to be in love with someone who is so utterly, utterly unattainable, forever out of reach. 

 

Hope Mikaelson drifts through the halls of the school has she has for more than half their life, alone, gorgeous, lonely. 

 

Lizzie tries and tries and tries. 

 

Josie doesn’t. 

 

Hope does not want to be their friend. She can accept that. 

 

But Lizzie fights and fights and crosses hell and highwater, when they’re five and when they’re nine and when they’re thirteen. Whatever else may happen in their lives, their Mom disappearing, their dad being away, a new crush, an old friend leaving, classes being added to the school, Lizzie never forgets about Hope. 

 

Tries and tries. 

 

And when they are thirteen, it almost looks like she might succeed. 

 

Josie catches Hope smiling, smiling back, almost laughing. 

 

Just once, she wonders, what it would be like to go for something. Thinks about what it would be like to go for Hope Mikaelson, stunning even at fifteen, absolutely stunning, and unspeakably powerful. 

 

She composes the note for hours, and pushes it under the door right before they are about to leave on the spring break vacation. 

 

She hasn’t even walked all the way down the hall when she turns back. This is the epitome of a horrible idea, a bad choice if she’s ever made one. She can’t go through with it. 

 

The flames burn, licking, colorful, an assortment of orange and reds, and Josie watches, watches, watches, feels the power running through her veins. 

 

She’s always been better than Lizzie at channeling the power of the school. 

 

And so she takes and guides the flames carefully under the door. 

 

And watches. 

 

And loses herself. 

 

Before she knows it, Hope’s room is in ashes, the destructive power of Josie’s knowledge burning it to the ground. She does not expect everything to escalate from a simple fire, bu she can’t stop herself, and the room burns, and burns and burns. 

 

They stay behind, the holidays cancelled so that their dad can oversee the repairs. 

 

And Lizzie explodes. 

 

Glasses shattering, vases crashing to the ground, chandeliers falling down from the ceiling. 

 

It is not the first time this has happened. 

 

But it’s the first time their mother has witnessed it.

 

And that changes everything. 

 

“Bipolar disorder,” her mother explains to her, very softly, that night, after she and Lizzie are back from the psychiatrist and Lizzie is asleep upstairs. 

 

And her mother says all the right things in careful tones, that Josie doesn’t have to worry, that Lizzie is still the same person, and she explains and explains and all Josie can feel is relief at the knowledge of what’s going on. 

 

Because none of this is news to her. 

 

Half her life, she’s been standing between Lizzie and the abyss, and now, maybe, she won’t be the only one any more. 

 

(Her own abyss is different.)

 

For a moment, there is a glimmer of hope. But her it’s shattered before the week is over, because Mom leaves and Dad stays, and nothing ever really changes.

 

It’s still her and Lizzie, all alone against the world.  

 

And as Lizzie rants and rants about the fire, and who started it, and how that was actually to blame for everything, Josie stares at Hope Mikaelson, a quiet vision of a tragedy. 

 

“Stop staring,” Lizzie chides, “god, you’re obsessed with her.”

 

The anger bubbles and burns and turns into panic and fear, an ice cold grip on her heart. Because Lizzie can never, ever know, about what Josie felt, and what Josie did, and what Josie caused. 

 

She snaps.

 

Snaps so that Lizzie doesn’t have to. Snaps to protect herself. Snaps to protect her relationship with the person she loves most. 

 

Because if Lizzie ever, ever finds out that Josie went after Hope Mikaelson, everything will be different.

 

And so, she lies, and Lizzie shatters, a bit, and they glue her back together, together, and walk the halls of the school with their heads held high. 

 

And Josie stays in Lizzie’s shadow, watches her sister’s back. 

 

This could be penance. 

 

Penance for her sins against her sister. 

 

Payment, at the very least, for her actions, offers her a safe hiding spot in Lizzie’s overpowering shadow. 

 

She is Josie Saltzman, the nice twin, her sister’s keeper, the good daughter. 

 

And underneath her skin, the abyss screams and the flames curl. 

 

But no one sees it.

 

Is it even real, then? 

  
  


And then Penelope Park shows up and everything changes. 

 

And Josie falls for her, deeper and deeper. 

 

Love is not quite what she expected.

 

Being in love with Penelope is easy. 

 

Penelope doesn’t need her to be anyone else. Doesn’t need anything from her. 

 

But wants her, anyway. 

 

And it’s everything. 

 

Penelope tastes like freedom and jasmine and kisses her and catches her when she falls. 

 

From dark spells to sudden silence, she takes everything in stride, and Josie _is_ and _is herself_ and it’s almost like perfection. 

 

Better than she ever imagined life could be. 

 

Penelope is soft and hard and harsh and kind and an elaborately weaved contrast, and Josie should know better but she can’t help but fall. 

 

Love has never gone well for them. Their mother is gone, their Dad doesn’t care, and the years in between are filled with friends that left the school to return back to their covens and crushes they stole from each other. 

  


(And forever out of reach, there is Hope Mikaelson.)

  
  


But Penelope looks at Josie like she could be the world, like they could have a love story that’s real, and Josie choose the covers in her shelf for a reason. 

 

She wants this. 

 

But more than that:

 

She wants Penelope. 

 

She wants to love Penelope, and be loved by her. 

 

And she’s so, so tired of resisting temptation. 

 

And so Josie lives, and when Penelope asks her out, she says Friday, and Penelope sneaks her out of the school, and they have dinner and a movie, and it should be boring, but it’s not. It’s the best night of her life. 

 

And she kisses Penelope, against her door, kisses the gasp of surprise away from lips and smiles at the way Penelope shudders against her.

 

Being with Penelope is easy in the best way. 

 

Josie cancels one of their dates, and Penelope rolls her eyes, mildly. “I’ll miss you,” she says, “but I guess I’ll put great sister on the list of your excellent qualities.”

 

“You have a list of my good qualities?” 

 

“Oh absolutely,” Penelope replies, and blatantly runs her eyes over Josie’s legs until Josie bursts into laughter and feels relieved. 

 

It’s almost perfection, tinged with the slightest hint of fear. In the back of her mind, she never quite stops waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

Except maybe once, around Christmas. 

 

Her mom is home and her Dad is present and Penelope stayed at school. I’ll brave your sister over the holidays for the pleasure of your company anytime, darling, she’d muttered. 

 

And as she’s drinking egg nog and watching Penelope chat with her parents and all the people she loves are in one room, and getting on, and Josie feels happiness. 

 

Happiness, she should know by now, never lasts. 

 

Can’t last. 

 

Not for her. 

 

Penelope leaves her.

 

Breaks up with her.  

 

And she can feel her heart break into tinier and tinier pieces, like she did not even know existed, until there are nothing but shards remaining. 

 

Suddenly, all the things Penelope never minded are thrown back into her face, as Penelope pleads with her to choose herself, to stand up to Lizzie, to fight for their relationship. 

 

And perfection turns into heartbreak in minutes, and Penelope asks for things Josie can not give her and can’t explain. She can’t put into words that Lizzie needs her, needs her more than anything, and that Josie is paying the price for past actions, and that this is her penance and her protection. 

 

And that’s how they break up:

 

Penelope, leaving her standing in her room, cold, harsh words, she never, ever thought she’d hear from her. 

 

Josie’s heart shatters into tiny pieces, and that night, and the next, and the next, she cries herself to sleep over the girl she loves. 

 

Lizzie is vengeful and enraged, and Josie lets her be, adapts to the silly nicknames and the angry glaring. Because Lizzie is doing this for her, because she’s angry that Josie gut hurt and because Josie needs to prove that her relationship with her sister is not a one way street. 

 

Because she doesn’t think Penelope even minds, with how she seems utterly unaffected by their break up. 

 

And that’s even worse, that Penelope seems okay. 

 

Because Josie isn’t. 

 

Doesn’t know how, or if, she’ll ever be again. 

 

And Penelope chit-chats, and talks, and smiles, and Josie wants to wipe that smile of her face. And inside of her, the fire burns and burns, and spill from her hands and across the courtyard and Penelope burns. 

 

(Beautifully.)

 

Her mother comes back, and buries her alive, and she kisses Penelope, because just for a moment, she wants to feel safe again, wants to feel happy, and loved, and wants to feel all the ways she felt when Penelope was still hers, and she was still Penelope’s.

 

They siphon the magic out of their mother and Josie thinks about Penelope that night, who would know the right thing to say, to make her feel a little better, who believes in the balance of things more than most other witches do, who could reassure her that this was the right thing to do. 

 

But Josie hates her, hates her with a vengeance and loves her even more deeply and so she screams, inside her mind, loud and clear, and holds Lizzie in her arms as her sister sleeps, restlessly. 

 

They go to Europe, because Lizzie wants to, and because Josie thinks that avoidance might be her smartest move, when it comes to Penelope Park. 

 

She’s missed their mother, and it’s nice, to be away from the mess that their lives have turned into, but she can’t help herself, and her thoughts keep drifting back to Penelope, wondering where she might be, what she might be up to. 

 

And when they return, Josie doesn’t know what to say, as Penelope gives her a note and smiles at her, so gently as if everything were still different.

 

But she can’t do this again.

 

They were perfect, and they were happy and Penelope broke it for what feels like no reason at all, and Josie is honest enough to admit, silently, to herself, that she still loves her, but she hates her, too, and she won’t let Penelope break her heart again. 

 

They’re never getting back together. 

 

But as much as Josie wants to stay away, Penelope makes it hard, with her constant presence and her gentle support, masked in dangerous sarcasm, and her knowing, knowing gazes. 

 

Penelope still sees her. 

 

In a way that no one else ever has. 

 

In a way she doubts that anyone else ever could. 

 

And she sings, and she catches Penelope’s gaze, directed at her, so, so proud, and Josie hates herself for the way her heart skips a beat, and then another, for the way she can’t help the smile that crosses her face. 

 

“I believe in you,” Penelope repeats, again and again, and leads her down the staircase at Miss Mystic Falls and Josie wants to be strong. 

 

But she can’t disappoint Lizzie, not after the recent revelations. 

 

Nothing has been the same since, and Josie misses her sister. She thought that Lizzie finding out would end in broken windows and shattered glass, not in quiet silences and unbearable awkwardness. 

 

So this is the least she can do. 

 

And so Josie falls, taking down Hope’s opponent with her. 

 

Penelope looks at her, utterly disappointed. 

 

Penelope leaves again. Doesn’t just leave Josie, this time, but the school. Disappears. 

 

And Josie stands in the front hall, all the words she still can’t say dead on her lips. She wants to explain, about Lizzie, about the darkness, about Hope, and about the fire, about broken hearts and burning flames. She wants to say:

 

I love you, too. 

 

She doesn’t. 

 

Penelope leaves.   

 

And the shards of Josie’s heart, holding onto the hope that they would find their way back to each other, crumble to dust. 

 

After that, nothing really matters anymore. 

 

So she lets herself fall, with no one there to catch her. 

 

In the library, alone in the middle of the night, she learns that she’s fated to become a murderer or a victim, and the books around her go up in flames. This time, she stops the fire before it causes any lasting damage.

 

She’s always excelled at self-control. 

 

She cries that night, between stacks of books, hidden from view, because Penelope left her and Lizzie will leave her, and she’ll spend her life either dead or alone and she doesn’t know which fate is worse. 

 

Her fingers trace over her dress, still chosen for a contest she desperately wanted to win, and she thinks of the way Penelope loved her and believed in her and asked her to choose her, and knows that Penelope left her, and that Josie failed her, and that Josie let her go. 

 

And finally, finally she understands why Penelope did what she did, understands that she was fighting for Josie and not against her, and Josie’s anger dissipates and all she is left with is the tragedy of her story. 

 

She stays in Penelope’s room. 

 

It’s the one remaining source of comfort she still has. 

 

The empty spirits lingering in the room of a girl who left her for all the right reasons. 

 

And she wishes she had been stronger. 

 

That she had chosen herself. 

 

That she had chosen them. 

 

That she had stopped Penelope. 

 

And inside of her, rage bubbles, violent and fast. 

 

A week after Miss Mystic Falls, Lizzie disappears, with Hope. Some important mission or the other, some bonding trip for freshly united friends. 

 

Josie can’t bring herself to care. Can’t even bring herself to keep them apart, anymore. 

 

M.G. checks in on her frequently, and Josie is certain that he’s reporting back to Lizzie, but it’s just another thing that doesn’t matter anymore. 

 

Penelope left and Josie let’s the dark void of sadness wrap itself around her like a glove. 

 

Her fate was sealed before she was even born, and the only person who ever thought that she was worth fighting for has left her behind. 

 

And then, everything changes.

 

After she’s given up all hope, almost lost herself to darkness and despair, the world flips. Tilts on its axis until everything is entirely different, once again. 

 

Penelope returns. 

 

With Hope. 

 

With Lizzie. 

 

With her mom. 

 

And this time, Josie does not even think about holding back. She fights with Lizzie, because she is enraged, that her sister knows her better than she knows herself. She fights with her father, because his secrets almost destroyed everything. 

 

And she falls, falls into Penelope with all the abandon she was too afraid of last time. This time, she vows, she will be someone who loves Penelope like she deserves. 

 

This time, she’s going to do it right. 

 

“I’ll fight for us,” she promises, whispers it again and again against Penelope’s lips, until they stop talking all together. 

 

She means it.

 

And that thought alone sends searing pain through her, because fighting for Penelope may end with her losing Lizzie, and that is unbearable. 

 

But Josie has made her choice. 

  
  
  


Lizzie fades away. 

 

Josie watches from her own shadows. 

 

Her sister has never been paler. 

 

And Josie has never been happier. 

 

She is stepping into her light and Penelope stands by her side, and she could be nothing but happy. Her Mom is home, her Dad is trying and she finally, finally made the right choice, finally chose the girl she loves. 

 

But there’s a sword hanging over her sister’s head, and more nights than not, she wakes up shivering and shaking, the image of Lizzie’s body on the ground, pale and lifeless, haunting her.

 

Penelope never asks about the dreams, just opens her arms and wraps Josie up in them, presses tender kisses to the crown of her head, and holds her until she falls into restless sleep, once again.  

  
  


New Orleans is wonderful, even if they’re here for all the wrong reasons, even if they’re facing after the slim chance that Freya may have found a solution. 

 

And yet, she loves it here, the bustling streets and the supernatural hidden behind every corner. The city is bright, colorful, indulgent and bursting with life. 

 

And Josie feels like she can breath a little more freely, here. 

 

Hope’s family is nice, friendly. Lizzie likes them, that much Josie can tell. She seems more comfortable around them than she does around most other people, even if Josie can’t quite pin down why. 

 

Hours feel like days as they wait for the perfect time to perform the spell. 

 

It’s close to midnight, and she’s wrapped up in Penelope’s arms on the dance floor, and feels safe and happy despite all her other worries, when the call reaches her. 

 

Lizzie looks different when they meet outside, but Josie doesn’t have the energy to focus on the reason. 

 

All that matters now is the spell that could save them. 

 

It doesn’t. 

 

It’s really not much more than that. The spell fails, no light, no flashes, no magic, almost like nothing ever happened at all.

 

The spell fails and their fate seems sealed, one killer, one casualty, and Josie spends another night in Penelope’s arms, and his time, she lets herself cry, for the danger of losing her life, for the even greater danger of losing her sister. 

 

“Talk to Lizzie,” Penelope says, in the morning, and Josie doesn’t want to, because they’ve stopped talking, because there’s not really anything left to say anymore, because she doesn’t even know how to begin. 

 

Because the person she was closest to for all her life suddenly looks at her like she’s a stranger, and because Josie can’t even look her in the eye anymore, because they understand each other wordlessly, still, and because that makes it all the more harder. 

 

All they have left to say to each other are empty words and apologies for a fate neither of them can walk away from and neither of them is at fault for. 

 

But Penelope squeezes her hand, softly. “She’s your sister, Jo.” Josie nods, and gets up, and leaves the safe haven of their room, where it’s just her and Penelope and the world seems a little less dark.

 

“Talk some sense into her, while you’re at it,” Penelope adds, and refuses to elaborate. 

 

It’s unbearably awkward, at first, and then it slowly gets a little better. “I had sex with Hope,” Lizzie admits, and Josie is torn between being completely shocked and not being suprised at all. 

 

She was the first to know, back then, probably, and now, she seems to be the last to know. 

 

Because after the fate they’ve been burdened with, the fact that Lizzie has been in love with Hope for half her life seems irrelevant. 

 

Because after Josie fell in love and had her heart broken, she stopped caring about Lizzie’s crush of the week. 

 

Because after Hope kissed Roman and dated Landon, Josie had hoped that Lizzie would move on. 

 

“About time,” she says, and “what, really,” and somehow, they’re both true. 

 

Lizzie’s voice is quiet, as she admits that she thought Josie would be mad. And Josie knows that she has to tell the truth this time, that she was scared of being left behind, that she was scared that everything would change. 

 

Maybe, if she does, her sister will get to be happy. 

 

It’s never that simple. “It’s too late,” Lizzie reminds her, and there’s no anger in her words, nothing but pain, and Josie understands that sentiment all too well. 

 

They don’t have time, and if Freya Mikaelson can’t find a solution, there might simply not to be one.

 

There’s not much left to say anymore. 

 

Their fate seems sealed. 

 

Josie leaves, because she knows that Penelope is waiting for her, because talking to Lizzie is just as difficult as not talking to Lizzie, and these days, everything seems unbearably hard. 

 

Lizzie promises to come downstairs for breakfast and Josie makes her way down the staircase and finds Penelope waiting for, her hand held out. 

 

“Did you know?” she asks, wraps her fingers around Penelope’s, “about Lizzie and Hope.”

 

“I’m not blind,” Penelope mutters, “and you said something about them when I found your little fire spell library.”

 

“You remembered that?”

 

“I remember everything you say, Jo-Jo,” Penelope says, and her voice sounds light, teasing and wonderfully sincere, and Josie tugs her closer and kisses her, until she feels alive and breathless. 

  
  


Lizzie doesn’t show up for breakfast. 

 

Neither does Keelin. 

 

And when Josie goes looking for her, she basically gets tossed out of the laboratory as Lizzie informs her that she’s busy and not to be bothered. 

 

Keelin words it slightly nicer, but they both absolutely refuse to tell her a word of what they’re doing. 

 

It’s one of the oddest situations she’s ever witnessed in her life. Her sister, paler than ever, is working frantically on something she refuses to disclose and the house seems to have switched into an emergency mode. 

 

Hope and Freya are frequently locked into the other study, together with Penelope, researching more and more magic. 

 

She wonders if this is what it must feel like to have a family, as she watches Hope’s family fight so hard for their life. 

 

Josie knows that she should be helping with the research. It’s her life on the line, after all, but none of the books seem to contain the answers they are looking for. 

 

And there is something fruitless about the atmosphere in the study, as if they are researching only to feel as if their situation is not utterly pointless, and she can’t stand that. 

  
  


So more frequently than not, she escapes the house and they explore the city. Mostly her and Penelope, and sometimes Hope comes with them and shows them hidden corners. 

 

But mostly, Hope, when she’s not researching with Freya, spends her time stretched out on the couch in the lab, keeping Keelin and Lizzie company. 

 

“Do you know what they’re working on?” Josie asks her, through the bustle of the voices around them. 

 

They’re in the tiniest little café, and Penelope is getting them fresh coffee and Josie needs to know. Needs to know what’s happening, what her sister is doing, if Lizzie is in danger or not. 

 

Hope shakes her head. “I haven’t asked.”

 

Josie has asked no less than seven times, in the few minutes that Lizzie spares for food every day. 

 

“Why not?” she prompts. 

 

“She’ll tell us when she’s ready,” Hope says, sounding more than a little calm. Hope has faith in Lizzie, Josie thinks, maybe more than anyone else. 

 

And the last glimmers of a hypothetical crush, of a could have been, in another universe, dim out, because Hope believes and trusts, and waits patiently, and Josie would never want that. 

 

Josie wants different things. 

 

Josie wants someone who sees her, who loves her, who pushes her, into the light and into herself.

 

Hope is the anchor Lizzie has been waiting for most of her life, calming and stable, a safe haven in a wild storm. 

 

Penelope is the match to Josie’s flame, the one who sets her on fire and lets her burn the world down, and helps her keep the flames under control by letting them flow wild. 

  
  


“Freya told me about this witchcraft shop,” Penelope says, a smirk on her lips, after Hope has disappeared back home, “want to find out if they have fun fire spells you haven’t tried yet?”

 

Flames are dancing across her hands while they dance the night away in the middle of New Orleans and Penelope pulls her closer and closer. 

 

They snatch a bottle of wine from behind the bar and that’s how her night ends, in the early hours of the morning, when the city has become almost quiet again and Josie kisses Penelope in the silent streets of New Orleans. 

 

Presses Penelope against the brick wall of the building behind them and kisses her, until the last traces of the wine have disappeared from her lips and Josie tastes nothing but Penelope.

 

She laughs, breathless, when Penelope spins her around, sliding one hand across the buttons of her blouse and the other one under her skirt.

 

They stumble home at dawn, their hands tangled together, their bodies intertwined and Josie can’t stop smiling.

 

And she thinks that no matter what happens, no matter how long she has, six years or a lifetime, she wants to spend every second of that time with Penelope Park. 

  


The house is still plagued with an eerie silence, most frequently interrupted by baby Elijah’s screaming. Apart from that, everyone seems to be moving cautiously. Even Hope’s family seems on edge, especially when Freya finds another spell that won’t work or Rebekah returns with the information that another contact couldn’t help them. 

 

Amongst all of the tension, only Hope seems strangely calm, her faith in Lizzie reassuring in a way Josie can’t quite describe. 

 

She watches them, once, from the shadows. She’s on her way upstairs when she catches Hope enter the study, balancing a plate filled with pastries, and lingers. Observes. 

 

Keelin is downstairs, with her son and her wife, and it’s just Hope and Lizzie inside the study. 

 

“Eat,” Hope orders, quietly firm, and Lizzie reaches out with her left hand, still flipping through the pages of the book in front of her with her other one. 

 

She looks up after the first bite. “This is delicious. What is this?”

 

“Beignets,” Hope replies, “a New Orleans speciality.”

 

Lizzie eats three beignets and Hope sits next to her. 

 

It’s not what she expected, for Lizzie, always so loud, and so dramatic, that her relationship with Hope would be so very quiet, and yet, Lizzie seems happier around Hope than Josie has ever seen her, despite the horrible circumstances surrounding them. 

 

Josie turns around, walking back down the stairs, and she’s glad, that with everything that may still be ahead of them, that Hope seems intent on not leaving Lizzie’s side. 

  
  
  


She’s almost thinking about going back to the school, when she hears Lizzie’s voice holler through the house. “Josie.”

 

Alarmed by the urgency in her sister’s voice, she rushes up the stairs, and finds Lizzie with her hand outstretched, motioning her inside.

 

“Hand,” Lizzie orders, holding out her knife, and she trusts her sister, always, even as Lizzie sharply cuts across her outstretched palm, collects the blood before turning back to Josie. 

 

Lizzie’s hand is on her wrist seconds later, her other hand on Keelin’s shoulder, glowing red. 

 

And suddenly, the room is alight with magic as Lizzie whispers spells Josie has never heard before. 

 

She doesn’t quite know how much time passes, for how long Lizzie whispers more and more complicated spells, their hands clasped together, until finally, the blinding whiteness in the room dims and Lizzie staggers, just slightly. 

 

Keelin catches her. “Careful, Liz,” she mutters.

 

“What the hell just happened?” Penelope asks, standing in the doorway, the Mikaelsons hovering behind her. 

 

Lizzie, still slightly unstable on her feet, smiles, and Josie thinks it has been weeks since she has seen anything close to this expression on her sister’s face. “We fixed it,” she says. 

 

There’s a barrage of questions exploding behind her, from Freya, from Penelope, from Rebekah, but Josie can’t bring herself to say anything at all. 

 

Lizzie and Keelin explain and explain, about curses and how they have to be tied, somewhere, to something, about how Lizzie and Josie are all that remains of the Gemini Coven. 

 

About how with nothing else left for the curse to be anchored to, it must have become a part of them. 

 

About the science Keelin performed on herself, so many years ago, changing the powers of her werewolf nature. About the way she manipulated supernatural DNA and managed to remove some of what everyone has always thought of as unchangeable. 

 

About Lizzie’s research on siphoners. “I wanted to find out if the fluctuation of magic affected mental stability,” she says. She’s never told Josie about that, and Josie vows to ask her later, how the magic they don’t have affects them. 

About what she found, during her researches, odd components she couldn’t explain. 

 

About how they mixed it all together to create a spell that would destroy the parts of them tied to the curse.

 

And Josie feels like she’s stepped out of a nightmare as she meets her sister’s eyes. “So it’s over?” she asks. It feels like a thousand weights dropping of her shoulder and crashing to the ground, like she can breathe again and be again, the fact that they might be free. 

 

And Lizzie nods and holds her gaze and a thousand words pass between them that no one else would ever understand. 

 

“It’s over,” Lizzie promises and Josie looks at her sister, and sees just that, now, only her sister, no longer a threat to Josie’s life or Josie’s future victim, no longer someone who shares the cruelest of fates with her. 

 

Lizzie is just her sister again and Josie smiles, and hugs her. 

 

There’s a lot of hugging, in the aftermath of all the revelations and the room is alive with joy and laughter and it only gets a little quieter when Lizzie ends up facing Hope. 

 

“I guess you got rid off that death sentence,” Hope says, a hint of a smile crossing her face. 

 

Her sister smiles too, for the briefest second. “I guess I did.”

 

They stand there like that, simply looking at each other, until a voice breaks the silence. Lizzie’s always been such a stubborn idiot, Josie thinks. 

  
“For fuck’s sake, Saltzman, if you don’t kiss her, I will,” Penelope says, next to her, and Josie should be mad, but it’s so worth it for the angry glare her sister throws Penelope’s way before she kisses Hope. 

 

Finally.

 

It’s been a week since Josie found out.

 

It’s been two months since she revealed the truth of what happened ten years ago.

 

And it’s been eleven years since Hope Mikaelson walked into the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted.

 

Really, it’s about time. 

 

“And it’s still before midnight, so I’ll take my money now,” Rebekah says behind her, and Josie turns around, to see Freya and Keelin handing over twenty dollars each. 

 

It’s kind of a perfect evening. 

 

The curse is gone, and they’re free, to live their lives as they choose, no longer any danger to each other. 

 

And Rebekah orders Chinese and Josie curls up against Penelope and calls her Mom, and hears her cry through the phone. Lizzie and Hope show up twenty minutes later, Lizzie’s hair dishevelled and Hope’s shirt buttoned wrong in at least two places.

 

Lizzie drops down on the sofa next to her, later, when Penelope is talking to Rebekah. 

 

“You saved us,” Josie says, quietly. She doesn’t say thank you, knows that Lizzie knows, that there’s not really any way to express just how grateful she is for the fact that her sister kept fighting for them, kept fighting for her. 

 

Lizzie reaches over and squeezes her hand. “It was about time I get to be the good sister.”

 

Josie leans her head against Lizzie’s shoulder. “I feel like saving our lives earns you a decent bonus.”

 

“Maybe you would have been happier,” Lizzie mutters, and Josie shakes her head, meets Lizzie’s eyes. “No.”

 

It’s the truth. 

 

She’s spent half her life protecting Lizzie from the darkness inside of her, but no matter how exhausting and how draining it might have been, she doesn’t regret a moment of it. 

 

And everything is different now. 

 

Lizzie is different now, has been for weeks.

 

And Hope anchors her, holds her more firmly and more calmly than Josie ever could. 

 

And the fact that she’s not standing alone by Lizzie’s side anymore, that it’s no longer just them against the world, that’s a bigger relief than she can express. But she’s still so, so grateful to have Lizzie by her side, and terribly glad that the curse placed upon them is broken. 

 

“Hope’s shirt is buttoned wrong,” she adds and Lizzie smirks. “I know.”

 

Josie rolls her eyes and in that moment, they’re just sisters, now, and she smiles. 

  
  


She and Penelope stay up last, long after Lizzie and Hope have disappeared up the stairs, after Freya and Keelin and Rebekah have gone to bed.

 

The stars are visible from the courtyard and she lets herself be wrapped up in Penelope’s arms and contemplated the last weeks. 

 

It has been thirty-three days since Penelope left her standing in the hall of the school and Josie wasn’t strong enough to stop her. 

 

It’s been seventeen days since Penelope came back. 

 

And somehow, all of it feels like several lifetimes have passed. 

 

Penelope fought for her until she couldn’t, but never gave up on her, and her hands trace through Josie’s hair and Josie can’t help the smile that crosses her face. 

 

She’s lived lifetimes in the last weeks, has lost the love of her life and has watched her sister of all people fight for her and for once, she feels strangely confident about the future ahead of them. 

 

Penelope came back, came back home, and came back to Josie, and so did Lizzie, and the suffocating curse that determining their lives no longer exists. 

 

She doesn’t know what the future will bring, if her mother will stay at the school, if they will manage to defeat the monsters and Triad when they return there, if everything will stay as perfect as it is right now. 

 

But for now, she is happy. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for joining me on this journey. i appreciate all of you so very, very much. and thank you especially to everyone who has left comments and kudos, you're truly the best motivation.


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